Leap into the Shadows
by TrudiRose
Summary: COMPLETE! A Quantum Leap-Dark Shadows crossover. Sam leaps into early Barnabas of 1967-1968. Features Willie, Jason McGuire, Buzz (Carolyn's biker boyfriend), Burke Devlin, the Collinses, Vicki, and Julia Hoffman. Please read and review!
1. Default Chapter

_Author's Note: This is a Quantum Leap/Dark Shadows crossover I wrote back in 1992. It was originally published in a spinoff of Kathleen Resch's "World of Dark Shadows" fanzine._

The blue shimmer gradually coalesced into solid shapes. Sam Beckett swallowed, trying to get over the familiar nausea of Leaping, and looked around. His first thought was relief that he was alone. He hadn't leaped into a fight, or a natural disaster, or a sexual encounter. For once, he had a chance to get his bearings.

But as he looked at his surroundings, a feeling of dread crept over him. He was in a drawing room whose furnishings and decorations appeared to be from the eighteenth century, down to the last detail. Had he been wrong in theorizing that one could time travel only within one's own lifetime? Would he be forced to live through the Salem witch trials? The Black Death?

The flash of panic lasted only a moment. He told himself firmly that this must be a museum, or a movie set. But looking around, he saw no sign of either: just dozens of flickering candles casting eerie shadows on the heavy velvet draperies and reflecting off the brass handles of the mahogany desk.

His first priority was to find out who he was. "Al?" he called softly, but his friend did not materialize. The house appeared deserted. Sam took a chance and went upstairs. He looked into a few empty rooms, feeling like Goldilocks, poking around a stranger's house. He hoped he wouldn't be arrested for breaking and entering. _For all I know, this could be_ my _house_, he tried to reassure himself.

The next door he tried opened into a beautiful old-fashioned room with a canopy bed and a vanity table. "Ah, a mirror," he thought, going to the vanity. He looked expectantly into the glass for a clue to his identity.

The mirror offered no clues, however. It was empty.

"What the...?" Sam did a double take. All he saw was the empty room behind him. Slowly he sank into the chair, staring into the mirror.

"This isn't possible," he said aloud. Unless... A chill passed over him. What if he hadn't leaped into a person at all? What if something had gone wrong, and he was just a disembodied spirit, lost in time?

Sam took a deep breath and got a grip on himself. He had opened the door of the room, so he had to be in a body, he told himself. That didn't explain his lack of reflection, though. He tapped the mirror with his knuckle. It felt solid enough.

Experimentally he picked up a silver comb from the table. In the mirror, the comb floated in the air by itself.

"Wow, will you look at this place!" came a voice behind him.

The comb clattered to the table. Sam whirled around. "Dammit, Al, don't_ do_ that to me."

"Sorry,"' said Al breezily. "But just look at this furniture! You know, my third wife collected antiques. She would've had a field day in here."

"Never mind that," said Sam. "Look at this mirror." He gestured at the reflection.

Al let out a whistle. "How'd you do that, Sam?"

"I didn't. I don't understand it."

"Well, it's...it's gotta be a trick of the light, that's all," said Al, waving his cigar.

"It's not, though," said Sam grimly. He looked at his friend. "Can you see me? Am I invisible or something?"

"Of course I can see you. You're about 45, dark hair, expensive suit..."

"Well, tell me who I am and maybe we can figure it out."

Al punched some buttons on the handlink. "Okay. Your name is Barnabas Collins, you're in Maine, and it's 1967."

"Thank God," murmured Sam, glad to know he definitely _wasn't_ in a distant century.

"You're kind of a history buff. This house belonged to your ancestors, and you decided to restore it the way it was 150 years ago."

"What about electricity?" Sam asked, looking at the flickering candles.

Al checked the data. "Nope. No electricity, no central heating, no modern plumbing. Apparently this Barnabas Collins wanted to recapture the romance of a simpler time," he said skeptically.

"Great," sighed Sam. "So I've leaped into the local eccentric."

"No, not really," said Al, looking at the handlink. "Ziggy says Barnabas Collins is one of the most important men in this town. He's well-liked, he's very wealthy, he's educated..."

"...he doesn't cast a reflection," Sam reminded him.

"That too." Al frowned. "I'll have Ziggy check on that."

"Does Ziggy have any idea why I'm here?"

Al hit some buttons. "There have been a series of attacks on young women in the area."

"Attacks? What kind of attacks?" Sam asked.

"About two months ago, a woman was attacked and left for dead. She just barely survived. Then a girl named Maggie Evans was kidnapped. They found her two weeks later - she was alive, but had gone insane. Ziggy says that's just the beginning. Tomorrow night a girl gets murdered. It was really sad: she was celebrating because she'd just been accepted for a Rhodes Scholarship to study in England. Her friends treated her to a night out as a kind of going-away party, and on her way home she was killed."

Sam digested the information. "Any clues?"

"No," said Al. "The police are baffled."

"Naturally," said Sam. But the mention of the police gave him an idea. "Does anyone in town have a criminal record?"

Al punched in the question. "Good thinking, Sam. Ziggy's come up with three names: Jason McGuire, Burke Devlin, and - Hold on."

"What?" asked Sam.

"I think we have something here," said Al eagerly. "The third suspect, Willie Loomis, works for Barnabas Collins. He lives right here in this house."

"And I've leaped into Barnabas Collins," said Sam thoughtfully. Willie Loomis certainly seemed the logical place to start. "Okay. Where is Loomis now?"

Al looked up. "Right behind you."

Sam whirled around. A young man with sandy brown hair hovered in the doorway. Sam turned back to the mirror and whispered frantically to Al, "I'm alone in the house with a potential killer?"

"Relax, Sam. It's only women that have been attacked."

"So far," Sam pointed out.

"Anyway, according to Ziggy, Willie and you are good friends," added Al. "He used to be a criminal, and you gave him a job and kind of turned his life around, so now he looks up to you." Sam looked doubtful. Al said, "You find out what you can; I'll see what other data Ziggy has on these police records." The blue door rose from the ground and vanished, taking Al with it.

Sam turned to face Willie Loomis, who didn't seem to find it strange that Sam had stared into the mirror for five minutes before acknowledging him. Maybe this Barnabas Collins was given to daydreaming, Sam thought.

"Hello, Willie," he said. That should be a safe enough opening.

"Hello, Barnabas," said Willie hesitantly.

_He looks as nervous as I am_, thought Sam, puzzled. Well, if he was going around attacking women, he had a reason to be nervous. "So, um, what did you do today, Willie?" God, that sounded lame, Sam thought.

Willie shifted uneasily. "I refinished some of the chairs in the drawing room, and I fixed the broken window in the room across the hall. And I went into town for supplies."

"That's good," said Sam, wishing he knew what to say next. On most of his Leaps, the first person he met had done a lot of talking and inadvertently given him most of the clues he needed. But Willie just stood there, waiting for Sam to speak. "Anything, uh, interesting happen lately?" Sam tried, taking a shot in the dark.

Willie tensed visibly. "What do you mean?"

"Well, nothing, really," Sam said uncomfortably. "Just...wondering if anything was going on I should know about."

Willie didn't meet Sam's eyes. "Well...I went into town, like I told ya. I locked the door, I know I did. And I was only gone a little while. But, um..." He took a deep breath. "I must've left a window open or something, 'cause when I got back, David was here."

"David?" said Sam, wondering who that could be.

"He was in the basement," said Willie, adding quickly, "He didn't see nothin', Barnabas, I swear he didn't. He wasn't anywhere near the coffin."

"The..._coffin?"_ asked Sam, completely bewildered. He stood up, and Willie immediately shrank back against the wall.

"It won't happen again Barnabas, I swear it won't," Willie said desperately.

Sam was surprised to see fear in his eyes. "It's okay, Willie."

"It is?" Now it was Willie's turn to be bewildered.

"Sure. Don't worry about it." Sam didn't know what to do next. Willie eyed him warily.

There was a knock at the front door. "I better go see who that is," said Willie, giving Sam an odd look. He scurried downstairs.

Sam stood alone for a moment. "Coffin?" he said to himself. He shrugged and followed Willie. At the top of the staircase, he looked down to see a lovely dark-haired girl of about 20 enter the house.

"Good evening, Willie. Is Barnabas here?"

"Sure, Vicki. He's upstairs.''

Al materialized as Sam came down the stairs. He whistled at the sight of Vicki.

"Hey, Sam, this could be interesting," he said. "Or at least it would be if_ I_ were in your shoes."

Sam glared at him, then looked at the girl. "Good evening, _Vicki_," he said, emphasizing the name. Al took the hint and consulted the handlink.

"Vicki...Vicki...here we are. Victoria Winters. She's the governess at your relatives' house, about half a mile from here. She takes care of your 10-year-old cousin, David."

"David..." The name caught Sam's attention. "David was here today. Willie found him playing in the basement," Sam said, forgetting that he was speaking aloud.

"Oh, was he?" Vicki looked worried. "I'm so sorry, Barnabas. I keep telling him that this is your house now, but it's so hard to keep him under control sometimes."

"She could keep me under control anytime," Al said admiringly.

"Barnabas," said Vicki, "I just came by to return your book. It was wonderful - it make me feel like I really knew what it was like to live back then."

Sam glanced at the book, a history of Maine in the eighteenth century. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Vicki looked past him at the drawing room. "The house is really coming along, Barnabas. It looks beautiful."

"Thank you," he replied. "Do you want to look around?"

Vicki glanced at her watch. "I really should be getting back. I don't want to walk through the woods too late, after what happened to Maggie Evans."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Willie start at the mention of Maggie. He glanced at Al, who had noticed it too.

"I'll walk you home," offered Sam.

Willie interrupted. "You don't have to do that, Barnabas. I'll take her home." He seemed agitated.

"Don't let him do it, Sam," Al said urgently. "He could be the killer."

"Uh, that won't be necessary," said Sam. He noticed an Inverness cape on the coat rack and out it on, assuming it was Barnabas'. Next to it was a wolf's head cane. Sam picked it up and looked at it admiringly. For a moment he wondered what he looked like in such distinguished clothes. The image of the empty mirror rose unbidden to his mind, and he pushed the thought away.

"Isn't it a beautiful night?" said Vicki as they left the house. She ran a few steps ahead, then turned back to wait for Sam. Al followed.

"Yes, it's lovely," said Sam unenthusiastically as he fell in beside her. In truth, the dark blobs of bushes and unidentifiable shadows were giving him the creeps. "I guess I'm more of a day person though."

Vicki started to laugh. "You? Is this the Barnabas Collins who rhapsodized to me about the beauty of the night for ten minutes yesterday?" She smiled in amusement. "Do you know, I don't believe I've ever even _seen _you during the day."

Sam realized he'd made a faux pas, and decided to keep quiet. Vicki glanced at him. "I'm sorry. I wasn't making fun of you."

"I wasn't offended," said Sam.

Vicki looked up at the stars. "Do you know what I like to do on nights like this?"

"No. What?"

"I go out on the balcony, and I pretend it's a hundred years ago. I'm Josette Collins, and carriages are pulling up to the house. Out come beautifully dressed men and women, ready for a ball." She stopped suddenly, blushing. "I suppose it sounds very silly."

Sam smiled, charmed. "No, it doesn't. I think it's very romantic." Vicki smiled back.

"Hey, Sam, I think she's sweet on you," said Al.

Sam ignored him. "Anyway," he went on, "it's very natural. Most people have fantasies of one kind or another. Do you know that song The Stranger'?"

Vicki's brow furrowed. "I don't think so."

Al hit his head. "Sam, that song won't be written for another ten years."

Sam cursed himself inwardly. It was so hard to keep track of these things. "Actually it's a poem," he said, trying to cover his tracks.

"Who wrote it?" asked Vicki.

"An old English poet called...uh...Billy Joel," said Sam lamely.

"Oh. How does it go?"

Sam tried to remember. He quoted:

"We all have a face that we hide away forever

And we take them out and show ourselves when everyone has gone.

Some are satin, some are steel, some are silk, and some are leather.

They're the faces of the stranger, but we love to try them on."

"That's so perceptive," said Vicki. "That's what I love about you, Barnabas. The way you talk, the way you quote poetry...sometimes you sound like you don't really belong here, as though you come from some other time," she said dreamily.

Sam shot a startled glance at her. "Sometimes I feel that way," he admitted. "Do I sound that way a lot?" Maybe it wouldn't be so hard to act like Barnabas Collins.

"Oh, all the time," said Vicki, adding hastily, "I mean that as a compliment. You're such a gentleman." She stopped walking. Here we are, back at Collinwood."

Collinwood? thought Sam. It seemed a bit pretentious, naming a house after yourself. Then he looked up at the house and forgot everything else. It was a tremendous mansion, with stone turrets and towers that seemed to stretch for miles. Graceful points etched themselves into the night sky, and elegant balconies floated airily above. Around the side of the house, an elaborate fountain splashing cool water was visible. "It's beautiful," breathed Sam. You actually live here?"

Vicki laughed. "You're so funny, Barnabas. As though you haven't been here a hundred times."

Suddenly the door burst open and a scruffy, bearded biker in a leather jacket staggered out. From inside the house came angry female voices.

"Hey, Vicko," said the biker, "what it is." He flashed her a peace sign.

"Hello," said Vicki distastefully. "Are you taking Carolyn out?"

He shrugged and glanced back at the house. "If she can get past her old lady." He noticed Sam. "Hey, dude, what's shakin'?"

Vicki sighed. "Buzz, this is Barnabas Collins."

"Hey, right, Carolyn said something about you." Buzz leaned closer to Sam and said confidentially, "Man, your cousin is one swinging chick! I mean, she is_ now_. You dig?"

"Uh..." Sam tried frantically to dredge up an appropriate response from his Leap into a biker gang. He hoped Buzz wouldn't start quoting Jack Kerouac at him.

"Man, don't be square," said Buzz. "I mean, she's hip, she's groovy, she's where it's at."

A pretty blonde girl came storming out of the house. "I'm going now, Mother," she snapped, angrily tossing her long shiny hair.

Al eyed her appreciatively. "That guy is right, Sam. She really _is_ where it's at."

"Would you stop?" said Sam in exasperation. "She's my cousin."

Buzz spread his hands. "Hey, man, no offense." He turned to Carolyn. "Coming, babe?"

"Yes," said Carolyn, and helped him wheel his motorcycle onto the path.

A dignified, attractive older woman came to the door. "All I said was that it's a little late to be going out."

"Oh, buzz off, Mother," the blonde said petulantly.

Her boyfriend laughed. "Buzz off, that's pretty funny, Carolyn."

Carolyn giggled. They climbed onto the motorcycle and rode off.

The older woman shook her head. "Vicki, I just don't know what to do about her anymore."

"She's just upset, Mrs. Stoddard. I'm sure this won't last," said Vicki reassuringly.

"I hope you're right." Mrs. Stoddard noticed Sam. "Barnabas, come in. We haven't seen you around here lately."

"Thank you," said Sam. The three of them went inside and closed the door. Al floated through the wall to join them.

"I'm sorry you had to see that little scene, Barnabas," said Mrs. Stoddard.

A tall, handsome, but shifty looking man got up from the couch. "Now, Liz, don't go apologizing for Carolyn," he said with an Irish accent. "I'm sure she'll settle down after the wedding." He put his arm around Elizabeth Stoddard, who shuddered visibly.

"Oh? Who's getting married?" The words were out before Sam could stop them. Too late, he realized Barnabas probably knew this already.

Elizabeth sighed. "Barnabas, don't you start. I've had enough interference from my brother. I'm marrying Jason, and that's final."

Sam glanced at Al, who nodded. "Jason McGuire," he confirmed. One of the suspects.

Jason's eyes narrowed. "Am I to understand, Mr. Collins, that you disapprove of my impending nuptials?"

"Well, no. I mean, I hardly know you," said Sam.

"Excuse us a moment, Liz." He led Sam into the drawing room and closed the door. "Now, look, Mr. Collins, I know your family doesn't approve of me. But if you have any intentions of trying to stop this wedding, I'd advise you to forget them right now."

Al said, "I don't like this guy, Sam. He seems like a real sleazeball."

Sam nodded and said to Jason, "I never said I wanted to stop the wedding."

"Well, that's good," said Jason, staring challengingly into Sam's eyes. "Because I've been wondering a lot about you lately, Mr. Barnabas Collins."

"What do you mean?" asked Sam.

Jason shrugged. "Well now, it just seems strange to me that you should hire Willie Loomis to work for you. I hate to say anything against him, seeing as he's my friend and all, but he's a disreputable fellow and that's a fact. And I have to ask myself, what does a man like Barnabas Collins want with a man like Willie Loomis?"

"Well, he just works for me," improvised Sam. "I haven't had any problems."

"I know, and that surprises me," said Jason. "I've never known Willie to take orders from anyone in his life, but he seems to take them from you." Jason's eyes narrowed. "He's been acting very strangely lately, Mr. Collins. more than once I've seen him heading up to that old mausoleum - the same place they found that Evans girl."

"What do you think he was doing there?" asked Sam.

"I don't know," said Jason slowly. "At first I thought he was after those jewels that were supposedly buried with members of your family. But now I'm not so sure." His voice hardened. But whatever it is, I intend to find out."

"Well, when you do, let me know," said Sam.

"I'll certainly do that," said Jason with a predatory smile.

Sam walked to the door, then turned to add, with just a touch of irony, "Oh, and my very best wishes on your marriage." He left the drawing room.

Elizabeth looked up as he entered the foyer. "Oh, Barnabas, are you leaving already?"

"I'm afraid so," said Sam.

"I do hope you'll come again," said Elizabeth warmly. "You know you're always welcome here. You're part of the family."

Jason had strolled back into the room as she spoke. "Why, so he is. How about that, Mr. Collins? After the wedding, you and I will be related," he said ironically. "Isn't that nice, Liz?" She shot him a dark look. He bent to kiss her cheek, but she turned away.

Sam said uncomfortably, "Well, it was nice seeing you all again."

Vicki walked him to the door. "Barnabas, may I come over tomorrow to see the renovations on the house? It looks like you've done a lot since I saw it last."

"Sure, Vicki," said Sam with a smile. She seemed to be the only friendly, normal person around. "Come by tomorrow afternoon."

"All right. Good night, Barnabas."

Outside, Al breathed a sigh of relief. "Talk about a tense atmosphere."

"Yeah," agreed Sam. "I'm definitely not on Jason's 10 best list. Al, I thought Vicki called that older woman _Mrs._ Stoddard. How can she be getting married? Is she a widow?"

Al consulted the handlink. "Her husband left her eighteen years ago. She hasn't left the house since."

"In eighteen years?" Sam looked back at the house, which loomed ominously in the moonlight. Thoughtfully he said, "Al, do you think I could be here for more than one reason?"

"What do you mean?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I just can't see that quiet, dignified woman marrying someone like Jason McGuire. She certainly didn't seem too affectionate towards him."

"Who knows why people get married?" said Al dismissively.

"You should," said Sam. "You've done it five times."

"Never mind that," said Al. "Anyway, I've got some information on those police records."

Sam perked up. "Tell me."

"Willie Loomis has a long list of minor offenses - picking pockets, that sort of thing. He was also charged with assault when he pulled a knife on Burke Devlin."

"Was he trying to mug him?" asked Sam.

"No, it was some kind of barroom fight," said Al. "But listen, here's the big thing. You know that girl Maggie Evans, the one that went insane? Two weeks from now, they catch Willie Loomis breaking into her window. The police figured he was afraid she'd get her memory back and was trying to silence her."

"Did he confess to the kidnaping?" asked Sam.

"No, he got shot and went into a coma."

Sam looked thoughtful. "McGuire said he'd been seen in the same are where they found Maggie Evans. Oh, what did you find out about McGuire?"

"He's a slippery one. He's wanted in seven countries on suspicion of fraud, smuggling, and extortion. But he's never been convicted, because he'd always leave the country, and without hard evidence they couldn't extradite him."

"Charming. And Burke Devlin?"

"He was sent to prison for five years on a hit-and-run."

"Hmm," said Sam. "So far Willie's the only one with a violent record. And he certainly seems nervous about _something."_ He was silent a moment. Then he yawned. "Well, we have until tomorrow night, right?"

"Yeah," said Al. "At 11:00 p.m. Outside a bar called the Blue Whale."

"Okay. I'm going back to Barnabas' house to get some sleep. Wake me up early, and we'll figure out how to proceed. Maybe you can center on the suspects when they're alone, see what they do when no one's around."

"Good idea," said Al. "And listen, Sam, be careful around that Willie Loomis."

"I thought you said he and Barnabas were friends."

"They are. At least according to the articles that came out after he got shot. But still, a murderer is a murderer."

"I don't think I need to worry," said Sam slowly. "When I spoke to him before...I can't explain it, but he seemed almost _afraid_ of me." Sam was puzzled.

"Maybe he was just afraid of you finding out about the murders," suggested Al.

"Maybe," Sam said doubtfully. "There's definitely something strange about him. He also said something to me about a coffin in the basement."

"A coffin?" said Al uneasily. "Maybe he's hiding bodies down there."

"If he was, he wouldn't_ tell_ me about it," Sam pointed out. "Anyway, I'll be careful." He headed toward the house as Al dematerialized.

As he entered, Willie came up to meet him. "Did Vicki get home okay?" he asked with a trace of anxiety.

"Of course. I was with her all the way home," said Sam, looking closely at him.

Willie turned away abruptly. "I'll go check that all the windows are locked."

Okay,'' said Sam, wondering about the man's mood swings.

After Willie left, it occurred to Sam to see if there really was a coffin in the basement. He went downstairs and almost got lost in the network of tunnels under the house. Then he came upon a small room off to the side. Inside, he found it - a heavy oak casket, just sitting there in the middle of the room.

Sam wasn't the superstitious type. He examined the coffin with the curiosity of a scientist. Opening it, he was relieved to find it empty. The blue satin lining was clean.

Nothing scary about a coffin, thought Sam. It was probably just part of Barnabas' fascination with the past. It did look to be an antique. An eccentric thing to have, certainly, but harmless.

In its own way, it was even rather aesthetic, he thought, running his hand over the smooth polished oak. The shiny satin lining seemed almost inviting, its blue softness an invitation to eternal peace.

Sam shook himself. He'd almost dozed off, standing by the coffin. Well, no wonder - it had to be four in the morning by now. _I'd better figure out which room is Barnabas'_, thought Sam.

Back upstairs, he looked through the rooms, but most of them seemed unrenovated. The only one that seemed fully restored was the delicate, feminine room with the canopy bed. Sam thought of going in search of Willie, but it would look strange for him to ask where his own bedroom was. He shrugged and went into the frilly room, wondering what it was for. There didn't seem to be any females in the house.

The light from the window bothered him, so he pulled the heavy drapes closed. Then he climbed into the canopy bed and instantly fell into deep, dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

It was 1:00 in the afternoon, and Al was seriously worried. Four times that morning he'd materialized by Sam's bedside, and each time he'd been unable to awaken his friend. At first he thought Sam was just tired and had overslept, although that wasn't like him. But now it was 1:00, and there was just no way Sam Beckett would sleep that late. Especially when he was on a mission.

To make things worse, Al couldn't even tell if his friend was all right. Sam had burrowed deep under the covers - not even his head was visible. He didn't appear to have moved at all whenever Al checked on him. Ziggy insisted, with cold computer logic, that Sam was alive; if he wasn't producing brain wave activity, Gooshie wouldn't be able to center in on him and generate Al's hologram next to him.

But that didn't mean Sam wasn't hurt, or sick, or drugged, or any number of horrible scenarios that played themselves out in Al's worried mind as he watched the shapeless lump in the bed.

"Come on, Sam," he pleaded. "You're the one who's always up at six a.m. sharp, remember? You were always at the project before anyone else, making all the rest of us lazy slobs look bad. Remember, Sam? I'd roll in at nine, hung over, and there you'd be, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with twelve new theorems you'd worked out before breakfast."

The lump didn't respond. Al sighed. He'd tried shouting at Sam, making all kinds of noise, all to no avail. In frustration he reached out to shake Sam's shoulder, but of course his hand passed harmlessly through with no effect.

The doorknob turned. Al glanced up as the door opened and Willie entered. He stopped at the sight of Sam in the bed, his eyes widening.

"That's it, Willie," Al said, relieved. "Go wake up Sam. Make sure he's okay." He knew Willie couldn't hear him, but that never stopped Al from talking.

"Barnabas...in Josette's room," Willie whispered. "What's he doin' in here?" His eyes flickered to the portrait over the mantel, depicting a pretty young woman in an old-fashioned flowing white gown. He looked back at the bed. Cautiously he went over to it and, ever so carefully, lifted the edge of the coverlet as though to reassure himself that it was indeed Barnabas. Replacing it, he stood indecisively for a moment. Then he checked that the drapes were securely drawn over the window, and with a nervous backward glance at the bed, left the room.

Al was aggravated. "Where are you going? Get back here and wake him up! I bet even Barnabas Collins doesn't sleep this late." He pressed a button, disappeared, and reappeared in the drawing room, where Willie stood lost in thought.

There was a knock at the door. Willie opened it. "Hi, Vicki."

"Hello, Willie. May I come in?"

With a quick involuntary glance up the staircase, Willie opened the door wider. "Sure."

"Is Barnabas here?" asked Vicki, entering the drawing room.

"Barnabas? No, he, uh, went to Bangor for the day on business," said Willie. "He won't be back till this evening."

Al stared at him. "That's a lie! What did you do to Sam, drug him or something? If you've hurt him, you punk, I'll kill you. I don't know how, but I will." His fists clenched in helpless rage.

Neither Willie nor Vicki reacted to the hologram's undetected outburst. But Vicki was nevertheless puzzled. "Bangor? But he invited me to come by today and look at the renovations on the house."

Willie was startled. "He told you to come durin' the _day?"_

"Yes, he said afternoon.' I know he did."

"Aha!" said Al triumphantly. "She's got your number. You're not gonna get away with this." He hoped fervently that Vicki would be suspicious enough to look for Barnabas.

"Maybe he just forgot he was goin' away today," said Willie unconvincingly. "He'll be back tonight. I can tell him to go see you."

"All right," said Vicki, turning to go.

"Vicki, wait," said Willie impulsively.

"Yes?" said Vicki.

"Did you get home all right last night? I mean...nothing happened, nothing strange?" Willie searched her face anxiously.

"No, of course not. What could happen? Barnabas was with me."

"Yeah," said Willie with a sigh. He watched Vicki leave.

Al followed Willie around suspiciously for the next two hours, but the servant didn't go near the room in which Sam still slept. Instead, he spent the day making minor repairs on the house. Sam showed no change when Al checked on him. Finally Al pressed a button, left the Imaging Chamber, and strode down the hall of the 1997 laboratory, determined to wring Ziggy's circuits until he came up with an answer.

o o o o o o o o o

Sam woke with a start. One moment, he was sunk deep in unconscious slumber; the next, he was wide awake, as though his body had automatically switched itself "on."

The antique clock on the mantelpiece read 6:00. Sam smiled. After all his years working on the Quantum Leap project - jumping out of bed as early as possible, racing to the laboratory, being engrossed in exciting scientific breakthroughs till late at night - he seemed to have an internal clock that invariably woke him at 6:00, no matter how late he'd gone to bed.

He was glad to get up anyway. Although he'd slept deeply, the canopy bed somehow hadn't been comfortable. Even as he slept, he felt a vague restlessness, a feeling that he wasn't where he should be. Something had tugged at him, something he didn't understand.

Besides, he was hungry.

He went downstairs, wondering where Al was. In the drawing room, he saw Willie standing on a ladder, cleaning the chandelier. "Hello, Willie."

"Hello, Barnabas," said Willie, wiping his hands on his pants. "Are you feelin' okay?" He was still puzzling over why Barnabas had slept in Josette's room.

"I'm fine," said Sam. "Just hungry."

Willie got very still. He stared at Sam with an expression the scientist couldn't fathom. Then Willie said quietly, "So you'll be goin' out tonight, then."

Sam didn't get it. What did being hungry have to do with going out that night? Murderer or not, Barnabas' servant was hard to figure out.

Willie had gone back to cleaning the chandelier. Sam, waiting for Al's appearance, watched the servant idly for a moment before he suddenly became alert and looked closer. As Willie stretched his arm to reach the top of the chandelier, the sleeve of his turtleneck had ridden up a few inches, revealing ugly purple bruises on his arm.

Sam was startled. What was going on here? "Willie, come here a second."

The young man looked about to ask why, then seemed to think better of it. He climbed down off the ladder and stood next to it, watching Sam warily. "What is it, Barnabas?"

"Let me see your arm," said Sam.

Panic flashed in Willie's eyes. He took a hasty step backward, instinctively cradling his arm to his chest. "Barnabas, don't, please. You...you said you were goin' out tonight." He was trembling.

He doesn't want me to see that he's hurt, thought Sam. Why? Is he in trouble? Does it have something to do with the murders?

"It's okay," Sam said as soothingly as possible. "I just want to look at your arm." He held out his hand.

Willie's scared eyes reminded Sam of a rabbit transfixed by headlights on the highway. Almost pleadingly, he said, "Barnabas, you won't- you're not gonna...?" He trailed off.

"Not gonna what?" asked Sam.

Willie didn't answer. Looking trapped, he reluctantly held out a thin arm to Sam.

Sam pushed up Willie's sleeve and was shocked by what he saw. The savage purple-and-yellow bruises covered most of the young man's arm. The marks weren't fresh; Sam's practiced medical eye estimated they'd been inflicted about three days earlier. Before I leaped in, he thought regretfully, wishing he could have prevented it. Sam guessed that Willie had been beaten severely and had instinctively held up his arm to try to ward off the blows. But whoever was responsible had just kept on hurting him.

There were also two tiny scars on the base of his wrist.

As Sam examined his arm, Willie stood utterly still, hardly breathing, tense as a wire. Trying not to spook him, Sam released his arm and asked very gently, "Willie, how did you get these bruises?"

He was surprised to see the fear vanish, to be replaced by confusion. "You know how, Barnabas," said Willie.

"Oh." Sam turned away, feeling frustrated. That was the problem with Leaping - it was like coming into a movie in the middle and trying to figure out what was going on.

He wondered suddenly if Barnabas himself could have hurt Willie. It would explain why the young man was so jumpy around him. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it. It just didn't make sense. Aside from the fact that it contradicted Al's data regarding Barnabas's sterling reputation, why would Willie work for someone who abused him? He was an adult, after all, and Barnabas was merely his employer. And what would Barnabas have to gain? If Willie wasn't a satisfactory servant, Barnabas was rich enough to hire an army of replacements. There really was no reason for him to hire an ex-convict unless, as Al said, he was just a kindly soul trying to turn Willie's life around.

Probably Willie had been hurt in some fight - maybe the barroom brawl Al had mentioned - and everyone in town knew about it, which made Sam's ignorance surprising.

Meanwhile, Sam had a murder to prevent. Where the hell was Al? He went to the window and opened the drapes, then stared in disbelief.

It was dark outside.

"Willie, what time is it?" he asked.

"About 6:30. Why?"

"6:30 at night?" Sam was confused.

"Well, sure," said Willie.

Sam let the curtain drop. That meant he had slept for 14 hours. It made no sense. He'd never slept that long in his life. And why hadn't Al awakened him?

He only had a few hours to prevent the murder of...Sam suddenly realized he didn't even know the girl's name. He only knew she would be killed at 11:00, outside a bar called...something about a whale. The Sea Whale?

When he'd walked Vicki home, he'd seen a wide road leading away from the estate - he assumed it led into the town itself. He decided to go into town and try to find the bar from there. Then he'd try to prevent the murder somehow.

He put on Barnabas' cloak and went outside. There was a car in the driveway - that was convenient - but no keys. Thoughtfully he went back to the house.

"Willie, do you have the keys to the car?"

Willie looked at him oddly. "You're gonna _drive?"_

Sam was getting tired of Willie's odd looks. "Yes, I'm gonna drive. That's why I need the car keys. All right?"

"Sure, Barnabas." Willie handed them over hastily.

Sam followed the road into town. It wasn't much of a town - just a shipyard, a cannery, a coffee shop, a general store, a gas station, and one small office building. Sam pulled over and asked a passerby, "Do you know where I can find a bar called the Sea Whale?"

The man turned. "Oh, hello, Mr. Collins. We haven't seen you in town much since you came to Collinsport."

Collinsport? Did the family _own_ the whole town?

"I've never heard of a Sea Whale," the man continued. If you mean the Blue Whale, it's right around that corner." He pointed.

"Thanks." Sam parked the car and went into the bar.

A cheesy, '60s-sounding instrumental was playing on the jukebox. Several couples were dancing. Sam sat down at the bar.

"Sam!"

Sam looked up instinctively, then realized the bartender was speaking to the sandy-haired, bearded older man sitting next to him. The bartender continued, "How's your daughter doing? Any progress?"

The bearded man shook his head. "Afraid not. She still can't remember what happened to her those weeks she was missing."

"Poor Maggie," said the bartender. "Well, good luck, Sam. I hope she gets better."

"Thanks," said the man.

Sam looked around the room, trying to pick out the murder victim. There were several young women in the room. Sam spied Vicki sitting at a table, and his heart skipped a beat. He prayed that Vicki wasn't tonight's victim.

Vicki noticed Sam and waved at him. "Barnabas! Come join us."

She smiled as Sam came over to the table. She was sitting with a dark, brooding man, who looked displeased at Sam's arrival but shifted his chair to make room. "Good evening, Mr. Collins," he said grimly.

"Good evening," said Sam.

"I was just saying to Burke that there haven't been any attacks since Maggie Evans was found," said Vicki. "Maybe the attacker left town, and everything will go back to normal."

Burke Devlin, thought Sam. The third suspect. And he's here with Vicki.

Burke said, "And I've been telling Vicki that she still needs to be careful. The killer hasn't been caught yet."

"I agree," said Sam.

Vicki laughed. "Stop it, you two. Your concern is very flattering, but nothing is going to happen to me." She smiled affectionately at both of them.

"Well, we just want to keep it that way," said Burke.

Vicki squeezed his hand. Then she said, "Barnabas, I came by to see you today, but you weren't home. I thought you had told me to come this afternoon. I must have been mistaken."

"What? Oh. No, you weren't mistaken. I just...wasn't feeling well. I slept all day," explained Sam. "Sorry about that."

"That's funny," said Vicki with a slight frown. "Willie said you went to Bangor on business."

"Oh," said Sam, thinking fast. "Well, I was supposed to go to Bangor, but I didn't. I guess Willie didn't realize I was still in the house."

"Oh, I see," said Vicki. "I hope you're feeling better now."

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks," said Sam. "I'm hungry, though. Do they serve food here?"

"Yes." Vicki signaled a waitress, who brought a menu. Sam looked at it, but paradoxically, the actual idea of food suddenly made him nauseous. He felt a throbbing in his gums, kind of like a toothache. I hope I'm not getting sick, he thought.

"On second thought, I'll pass on dinner," he said apologetically, handing the menu back to the waitress. "I'll just have a Coke." To Vicki he said, "I guess my stomach's still a bit upset from before."

Vicki looked concerned. "Maybe you should have tea instead. Or chicken soup."

Burke interrupted. "Vicki, Barnabas is a grown man. He doesn't need you fussing around him like a mother hen."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Vicki said, "Excuse me, I'm going to powder my nose." She left the table.

"I think you upset her," said Sam, watching her go.

"She's fine," said Burke curtly. "But I'm glad she left the table. I've been meaning to talk to you, Mr. Collins." His voice was polite, but unmistakably hostile.

"About what?" said Sam.

"About Vicki. I don't think you should be encouraging her to think about the past so much. It's not good for her."

"Why?" asked Sam.

"She gets too involved. She's in danger of losing touch with reality," Burke said sternly.

Sam was surprised. "Vicki? I don't think so. She seems to be an intelligent, sensible person. I wouldn't worry about her."

"She's very young, and very impressionable," insisted Burke. "It's not healthy for a young girl to spend so much time in a creaky old house like yours, poring over old manuscripts."

"Why not, if that's what she's interested in?" said Sam seriously. "She could be the next Margaret Mead."

I don't know who Margaret Mead is, and I don't care." Burke glared at Sam for a moment. Then he said, "You should know, Mr. Collins, that I intend to marry Vicki."

Surprised, Sam said, "Oh. Congratulations."

Burke eyed him distrustfully. "I find it hard to believe that you're glad to hear this news, Mr. Collins."

"I'm glad about anything that makes Vicki happy," said Sam mildly. But if you're going to marry her, shouldn't you accept her for herself?"

"What do you mean?"

Vicki enjoys reading about the past," said Sam. "That's a big part of who she is." He smiled involuntarily, recalling how her face had lit up as she described her moonlight fantasy. "If you try to take that away from her, you'll only make her unhappy. I don't think that's what you want."

Burke said challengingly, "So you intend to encourage her in these...these delusions?"

"I don't intend to do anything. Vicki's an adult. I think we should respect her right to decide what's best for her, don't you?"

Burke wasn't satisfied. He was about to say something more when Vicki came back to the table. "So, have you two had a nice talk?" she asked brightly.

"Yes, it was very...enlightening," said Burke, with a dark glance at Sam.

A light, boppy song came on the jukebox. "Come on, Vicki, let's dance," said Burke.

"All right," said Vicki. "Will you excuse us, Barnabas?"

"Sure," said Sam, feeling an inexplicable twinge of jealousy.

The waitress came back with his Coke. He raised it to his lips. Suddenly a voice said, "Sam! Thank God you're okay."

Sam jumped slightly, spilling a little Coke. "Al! Where have you been?"

"Where have I been? I've been trying to figure out what was wrong with you. You had us all worried sick. Dr. Beeks was starting to think all this Leaping might have damaged your synapses or something."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, then realized that the couple at the next table were staring at him. Rule No. 1 of Quantum Leaping: Try not to look like you're talking to yourself in public. He went over to a pay phone and put the receiver to his ear. "What's going on, Al?"

"You were unconscious all day, that's what," said Al. "I couldn't wake you up."

"I _thought_ it was strange that I woke up so late," mused Sam, puzzled. I wonder what could have caused it?"

"I know what caused it," grumbled Al. "It was that punk Willie Loomis. He had something to do with it."

"Willie?" Sam was surprised. "How could he?"

"He came in your room this afternoon, and he wasn't at all surprised that you were asleep," said Al. "Then Vicki came over, and he lied to her, told her you were out of town. He knew perfectly well where you were." Al was getting excited. "He's plotting something, Sam, I know it. He must have drugged you."

"He couldn't have. I haven" eaten anything since I Leaped in," said Sam.

"Well, he did _something,"_ insisted Al. "Probably wanted you out of the way so he could kill that girl tonight."

"I don't know," Sam said thoughtfully. "Al, I'm starting to think Willie's not the murderer."

"How can you think that?" said Al in disbelief. "You saw how he reacted when Vicki mentioned Maggie Evans. We know he's been seen in the area where she was found, and we know he breaks into her window two weeks from now. What more do you want?"

"It's just a feeling I have," said Sam. "He seems too timid. He doesn't seem cold-blooded enough."

"Yeah," said Al, "that's what they always say after a murder: 'He was always so quiet and polite. Right up until he picked up the chainsaw."'

"Well, besides that, someone's hurt him. He's all bruised."

"Probably one of his victims, fighting back," said Al stubbornly.

Sam sighed. "I'm not ruling him out, okay? I just think we should keep an open mind." He looked around the room. "Anyway, Willie isn't even here. Of the three original suspects, the only one here is Burke Devlin. He's definitely got a chip on his shoulder." His voice grew concerned. "And he's here with Vicki."

"Vicki?" said Al, not getting the connection. Then he understood. "Vicki doesn't get killed tonight, Sam. She's not the one." Sam looked relieved, and Al said, "Hey, Sam, you don't by any chance have the hots for her, do you?

"Of course not," said Sam quickly. "I just want to make sure she's safe."

Al shrugged. "Well, she is. The victim's name is Randi Wallace. She's over there." He pointed to a girl with long curly brown hair, laughing at the bar with a group of friends. Al checked the handlink. "She leaves here at 10:45, and gets killed 15 minutes later."

"Okay," said Sam. "When she leaves, you stick by her. I'll wait one minute, then I'll leave. You can keep getting back to me and letting me know which direction she's going. That way I can follow her without having to keep her in sight."

"Good idea, Sam."

Sam continued, "As soon as the killer approaches her, let me know, and I'll run up and save her."

"All right. But be careful, okay?"

"Don't worry." Glad to have a plan, Sam went back to the table to wait. He picked up his untasted Coke and took a sip. Suddenly, without warning, he felt violently ill.

"What's wrong?" asked Al. Sam shook his head, ran to the bathroom, and threw up.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he told Al. "I'm starving, but when I think of eating I get sick. All I had was a sip of Coke."

"Well, don't get sick now, Sam. You've got a murder to prevent," admonished Al.

"I know." Sam looked at the clock. It was only 9:30. "We've got some time. I'm going to look around outside, see if there's anyone suspicious hanging around."

They left the bar and walked around. The fog had rolled in, giving the deserted street the eerie atmosphere of a ghost town. Behind the buildings, the dark forest loomed ominously, bare crooked branches silhouetted against the moonlit sky. Looking farther, Sam could just make out the bleached white tombstones on Eagle Hill. On the other side of town, the Collins mansion stood like a sentinel.

Al shivered. "I'll be glad when you Leap out of here. This place is spooky. I wouldn't be surprised if that old house you're staying in is haunted."

"Haunted? Come on," said Sam dismissively.

"Don't laugh, Sam. Strange things happen in this town. That boneyard on the hill is full of Collinses who died violent, unnatural deaths," Al said knowingly.

Sam smiled. "That's what you said about the Claridges, remember?" he said, referring to an earlier Leap. "You were positive the place was crawling with ghosts."

"That was different," grumbled Al. "I mean, look at this place. It's like something out of a horror movie."

"I think you've been _watching_ too many horror movies."

They went back to the Blue Whale, having seen nothing suspicious. At 10:45 the girl Randi stood up, amid a round of hugs and kisses from her friends, and left the bar alone. Sam nodded to Al, who followed her.

Sam waited exactly 60 seconds before going out the door. He stood on the doorstep, not knowing which way to turn. Soon Al appeared. "She went that way," he said, pointing, "then turned left at the police station."

"Okay," said Sam, starting off in the direction indicated.

Al said, "Gooshie, center me on Randi," and disappeared.

Sam followed the unseen girl's trail through the town and into the woods. Occasionally Al would zap back to Sam to tell him where to turn.

Eventually Sam came out of the woods onto a road. Set back from the road was a small cottage, in front of which stood a puzzled Al.

"I don't get it, Sam. No one came up to her at all. She just went into that house."

"She's definitely supposed to get murdered outside?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, about a mile back, in the woods," said Al in confusion.

"What time is it?"

Al checked. "11:15." He shook his head. It doesn't make any sense."

"No, it doesn't," said Sam slowly. The gears were turning as his logical mind sought a solution. "Unless..."

"Unless what?" asked Al impatiently.

Sam turned to him. "Unless I'm the killer."

Al was flabbergasted. "You mean Barnabas Collins?"

"It's possible, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, I guess so. It would be a big surprise to the town, though. Barnabas Collins is a real pillar of the community."

"That doesn't mean anything," said Sam. "Al, I want you to pull up everything you can on Barnabas Collins. I want to know all about his background, where he came from, how he made his money, everything."

"Okay," said Al. The only thing is, it might be a little tricky."

"Why?"

"Well, I can get you everything after April 1967, that's easy. But before that he was living in England. We'll have to contact the British government and access their records."

"What's the date now? I mean, where I am?"

Al checked. "June 15, 1967."

"So what you're saying is, two months ago Barnabas Collins came to town, and suddenly this rash of attacks started," said Sam thoughtfully.

Al's eyes widened. "I didn't think of it that way."

Sam continued thinking aloud. "If Barnabas Collins is the killer, that leaves me with the problem of what to do about it. Obviously I won't commit the murders, but once I Leap, he'll be back and can do whatever he wants."

"You could go to the police and confess," suggested Al.

"Yeah, I could do that," mused Sam. "I'd need to know a lot more about the murders first, though, like what his motive was. Otherwise it wouldn't be a convincing confession." He was silent a moment. Then he shook his head. "Anyway, we're getting way ahead of ourselves. We don't even know for sure that Barnabas did it. And I certainly don't want to get an innocent man in trouble." A thought struck him. "Al, what about the real Barnabas Collins, back in the Waiting Room? Can you get anything out of him?"

Al shook his head. "We already tried that. He won't answer any of our questions. He just keeps saying..." Al punched it up on the handlink and quoted: "'Show yourself, Angelique. I know this is your doing. I won't be a pawn in your fiendish games.'"

"What does _that_ mean?" asked Sam, frowning.

Al shrugged. "Beats me. We even tried cross-referencing the name. But there hasn't been an Angelique in Collinsport in over 100 years."

"Maybe it was someone he knew in England," suggested Sam.

"Maybe. But without a last name, we can't access it. England is too big a place," explained Al. "Collinsport's population is only about 1,000, so it's easy to find out if there's an Angelique in town."

"I see," said Sam. "Well, what about Barnabas Collins? How long will it take you to get his records from the British authorities?"

Al consulted Ziggy. "Figure four or five hours."

"Okay. I'll go back to Barnabas' house and wait for the data. You get back to me the minute you find out anything."

"Will do." Al disappeared.

Sam went back to the Old House. In the drawing room, he idly picked up a book from the shelf. It was the Collins family history. He sat down and began to read it, to kill time until Al came back.

Willie was cleaning wax from the many candlesticks in the room, but he kept glancing at Sam. Clearly he had something on his mind. Finally he looked straight at Sam and said, "Did you see Vicki tonight?"

Sam looked up. "Yes, I ran into her at the Blue Whale. Why?"

"You been seein' a lot of her lately, haven't ya?"

"I suppose so," said Sam, not sure what he was getting at.

"She came by today. Said you told her to come by durin' the _day."_ Willie's voice was accusing.

"So?" Sam was completely confused.

"So you're plannin' something. I know ya are." Willie came over to Sam. His eyes were scared but determined. "Barnabas, don't hurt her. She didn't do nothin' to deserve it."

Sam stared at Willie. So Barnabas _was _the killer. And Willie knew about it. Why didn't he go to the police? Was he involved too?

Willie was waiting for an answer, his eyes searching Sam's for a clue to his intentions.

"I'm not going to hurt Vicki," Sam said reassuringly. I like Vicki."

"I know ya do. So much that you'll do anything it takes to get her, even it if means hurtin' her," said Willie, almost angrily. It isn't right."

Sam was a bit surprised at Willie's spirit - he'd seemed so timid before. Maybe it took concern for someone else to bring out Willie's inherent courage. "I promise you I won't do anything to hurt Vicki," said Sam. He hoped he could think of a way to make the real Barnabas keep that promise.

Willie looked unconvinced, but went back to cleaning the candlesticks. He had done all he could for now.

Sam sat in thought, trying to fill in the missing pieces. Why would Barnabas Collins want to kill young women? If he was a maniac, he certainly hid it well, for him to be considered a "pillar of the community." He wished Al would hurry up with the data.

Trying to pass the time, he read part of the family history. Al was right - there _had_ been a lot of tragic deaths in the family. The worst year had been 1795, when Jeremiah Collins was killed in a duel, Josette Collins jumped to her death from Widows' Hill, and Naomi Collins drank poison. Saddest of all to Sam was little Sarah Collins, who'd died of pneumonia on her tenth birthday.

As Sam read, Willie kept glancing out the window. Finally he said, "Sun'll be up any minute - ain't ya goin' to bed?"

"I'm not really tired yet," said Sam. It was a lie - he felt lethargy creeping up on him. But he wanted to talk to Al. "You can go to bed if you want."

Willie stared at him. "But Barnabas - it's almost _dawn ."_

Sam thought quickly. Clearly Barnabas Collins would not stay up this late. Why? He couldn't have a day job, because Sam had slept all day and Willie hadn't thought it unusual. Barnabas must have some kind of appointment early the next morning that he wouldn't want to miss. If it was that important, Sam needed to know about it.

He smiled apologetically at Willie. "I'm sorry, I must have forgotten. Do I need to be up early tomorrow?"

Willie took that as sarcasm on Barnabas' part, and didn't answer. He went back to the window, glancing uneasily at Sam as though trying to figure out what he was up to.

Sam couldn't understand Willie's behavior. As he puzzled over it, he heard the door of the Imaging Chamber open and turned to see Al. "Did you find out about Barnabas?" he whispered very quietly so Willie wouldn't hear.

"Yep," said Al, bursting with the news. "Brace yourself, it's a doozy." He paused for dramatic effect, then proclaimed, "Before he came to Collinsport two months ago, Barnabas Collins didn't exist." He folded his arms.

"What?" said Sam. Willie looked up. Sam turned away and lowered his voice. "What do you mean?"

I mean there's no record of him at all, in England _or_ America. No birth certificate, no Social Security card, no driver's license, nothing."

"So he's an imposter," said Sam, intrigued.

Al looked doubtful. "It looks like that, except..."

"Except what?"

"You see that painting over the fireplace?" Sam looked at the portrait of a man in a suit and nodded. "That's you. That's what you look like. Barnabas Collins commissioned that painting right after he got here."

"So?"

"So, apparently he looks just like one of the family's ancestors, a Barnabas Collins who lived in the 18th century."

Sam picked up the family history he'd been reading and thumbed through it until he found a picture of the first Barnabas Collins. "You're right, there's definitely a resemblance. But what does it mean?"

At that moment, the sun came up.

As the first pale rays weakly illuminated the room, Sam was filled with a searing pain worse than anything he'd ever known. He screamed in agony and collapsed, feeling as though every cell in his body was on fire. White-hot light filled the room, blinding him with impossible brightness. He lay in shock, unable to move, paralyzed by burning agony.

Dimly he heard Al shouting his name. He felt Willie grab him and drag him to the basement door. Inside, Willie shut the door on the hated sunlight and dragged Sam down to the blessedly cool, dark cellar.

"Al?" Sam whispered weakly.

"I'm here, Sam." Al was frantic. "What's going on? What's happening to you?"

Sam could only shake his head dumbly.

Willie pulled him through the basement, shouting at him. "Are you crazy? What are ya tryin' to do, kill yourself? You know sunlight'll kill ya!"

Sam raised his head weakly and saw the coffin. "No," he whispered, terrified. What was going on? Would he be buried alive? He tried to struggle, to push Willie away, but he had no strength. Lassitude was spreading through his limbs like a drug, rendering him helpless.

"Barnabas, what's wrong with you?" Willie asked anxiously. "It's just your coffin." With difficulty, he shoved Sam inside. Sam was too weak to resist.

Al was saying quickly, "Don't worry, Sam! I'm gonna find out what's going on, and get you out of here!" But he sounded frightened as he frantically stabbed the buttons on the handlink.

"Al..." whispered Sam as the coffin closed. But through his fear, he felt a sudden sense of peace, as though he belonged here. The coffin walls seemed to wrap around him, comforting him as he lost consciousness.

Willie looked anxiously down at the closed coffin. "What's wrong with him?" he worried aloud. "He's actin' like he don't even know he's a vampire."

"_Vampire ?"_ Al stopped pressing buttons and stared at Willie in disbelief. Slowly he looked at the coffin. "Oh, Sam, we are in _big_ trouble."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam woke up disoriented, uncertain where he was. Then he remembered the night before, and felt a moment of panic as he realized he was still in the coffin.

He pushed against the lid, and was relieved to find that it opened easily. He hadn't been buried alive. He was still in the basement of Barnabas' house.

_Okay_, he thought, climbing out of the coffin. _Let's look at this calmly_. He took a deep breath and let it out, then took stock of the situation.

He was alive, and his burns from the night before had miraculously healed. The deep, comforting sleep had restored his equilibrium somewhat, allowing him to reflect on the previous night's events with at least a small degree of objectivity.

_All right_, he told himself. _Nothing terrible has happened. I had a frightening experience - that's because I didn't understand what was happening. All fear is fear of the unknown. Once we understand the unknown, it stops being frightening._

_It's not like I haven't been in scary situations before. I mean, I went to the electric chair, for Pete's sake! I can get through this too. I'll talk to Al, and we'll go over everything logically and rationally, and we'll figure out exactly what's going on. Then I'll Leap out of here._ The thought was reassuring.

"How are you feeling, Sam?"

Sam turned to see Al watching him with concern. "Better," he replied.

Good," said Al, but the worried look stayed on his face as he watched Sam intently.

Sam was getting uncomfortable under Al's scrutiny. He tried to smile. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing," said Al.

Sam changed the subject. "Al, what exactly _happened_ last night? Does Ziggy know?"

Yeah," said Al. He ran a hand through his hair. "Uh, Sam, I think maybe you better sit down for this."

"Why?" asked Sam.

"Well, the thing is..." Al trailed off helplessly. He looked away, as though seeking inspiration from the cellar walls. Then he looked back into Sam's questioning eyes. "The thing is, you're a vampire," he blurted.

Sam was speechless. "A...vampire?"

"You got it."

"You're joking, right? Sam started to laugh, but it died in his throat as Al shook his head. "Al, there's no such thing as vampires!" he said firmly.

"Uh, yeah, there are, Sam. I heard Willie say so last night."

"Just because Willie thinks I'm a vampire doesn't mean I _am_ one," insisted Sam. "There has to be a logical explanation for everything that's happening."

Al sighed. "Sam, look at the facts. You sleep in a coffin-"

"So Barnabas Collins is eccentric. That doesn't make him a vampire," said Sam stubbornly.

"-You get burned by sunlight-"

Sam thought fast. "Polymorphous light eruption," he said suddenly.

Al blinked. "What?"

"Photoallergic reaction. A sensitivity to sunlight," explained Sam. "It's a rare condition, but it _does _exist." He folded his arms, satisfied.

Al shook his head. "Sam," he said gently, "you have no _reflection."_

Sam winced. He'd forgotten about the mirror.

"And then there's the facts on Barnabas Collins," Al went on. "Ziggy's spent the whole day checking up on him. He's supposed to be the descendant of the first Barnabas Collins, who supposedly went to England. But there's no sign that that Barnabas ever _did_ go to England. He's not listed on any passenger registers, there's no marriage license or death certificate, nothing. It's like he vanished and the family just _said_ he went to England.

"Then, 172 years later, this Barnabas shows up, says he's the guy's great-great-grandson. But there's no record of him at _all,_ not even a birth certificate. Yet he looks exactly like the original Barnabas. And I heard Vicki tell Elizabeth that he talks about the past like he was actually there."

"That's not possible," argued Sam.

"Not possible? Look at you! You're standing here 30 years in the past, telling me it's not possible." Al shook his head in exasperation. "Then there's the way those girls were killed. They died from loss of blood, yes...but what the papers didn't say was that they were totally _drained_ of blood. There wasn't a drop left in 'em, or on the ground where the bodies were found. But there were no stab wounds - just two tiny bite marks on their neck. I found that out from the police reports. And the same thing happened to this Maggie Evans before she was kidnapped - her symptoms indicated that she'd lost a lot of blood."

Incongruously, Sam was getting hungry again. He felt an ache in his gums. Suddenly he jerked, startled, and realized he had bitten his lip. Touching it, he saw blood. Absently he licked it off his finger as he listened attentively to Al.

"At night, she kept saying someone was calling her, that she had to go to him. One night she got out and they found her in the cemetery. So then they had Vicki stay with her one night, and she thought she saw a man at the window. She-" Al broke off. "Sam, what are you doing?"

Sam suddenly realized he'd been licking his finger like a man who'd been eating Kentucky Fried Chicken. He stopped quickly. What was happening to him?

"The doctors tested Maggie's blood," Al continued, keeping an eye on Sam. "They found that it was mutating. Like some foreign cell had gotten into it and was trying to change it."

"Like cancer," said Sam slowly.

"Yeah, Sam, like cancer. But it _wasn't_ cancer. She just kept losing blood. Willie Loomis showed the same symptoms. And it all started when Barnabas showed up."

Sam remembered the two tiny scars on Willie's wrist. "Oh, God," he whispered.

What was convincing him even more than the facts was his own reaction every time Al mentioned blood. Intellectually he was horrified by the murders, but his appetite perked up with every mention of blood. His stomach was practically growling. Deep down, part of him was craving blood, yearning for it. He could feel it, and the thought filled him with horror.

"That Coke yesterday - it tasted like poison to me," he whispered. "But vampires? Can I really believe that?"

Al pointed out, "Remember what you used to say: 'When you've eliminated the impossible-'"

"'-then whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.'" Sam sighed. "Yeah."

"In other words, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it probably _is_ a duck," said Al.

Sam walked a few steps away, trying to come to terms with the nightmarish idea. Al watched, knowing the process his friend was going through. Sam was a scientist to the core - he was completely logical and would never be swayed by emotion or superstition, unlike Al. But conversely, if all the evidence pointed inescapably to a bizarre conclusion, he wouldn't reject the facts just because they didn't fit in with his world view. After all, that was why he'd become a scientist: to find the truth and push back the borders of the unknown. Watching him, Al could almost physically _see _Sam adjusting his universe to allow for the existence of vampires.

Sam came back and smiled weakly. "I guess there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy, huh?"

"You got that right," said Al.

"I suppose it makes sense, if you think about it," said Sam, his voice betraying only a slight tremor. He went on quickly. "I mean, almost all societies have some kind of vampire legend, all the way back to prehistoric times. It's one of the most pervasive images of Western _and_ Eastern culture. Really, it would be surprising if it _didn't_ have some basis in fact." Sam hesitated.

_I'm a vampire_, he thought helplessly. _A murderous, satanic, bloodsucking _monster._ God help me._

Al looked sympathetic. As though reading Sam's mind, he said gently, "Remember, _you're_ not a vampire. _Barnabas Collins_ is a vampire. This whole thing is just temporary. Once you do what you came here to do..."

"Right," said Sam, running his hand through his hair. He took a deep breath. "Okay. We can assume I'm here to stop Barnabas from killing people. But how? Obviously I'm not going to murder anyone, but once I Leap, he'll be back and can do whatever he wants."

"Maybe you're here to kill him," Al suggested.

"Maybe," said Sam doubtfully. But I've never had a mission where I had to kill my host body before."

"You've never been a vampire before, either," Al pointed out.

"That's true," Sam conceded. All right. If I was going to kill him, I guess the easiest thing would be to go out in the sunlight." He shuddered at the thought of experiencing that agony again. But if it was the only way he could Leap, he would do it. He'd had to make a similar choice once before, when he'd Leaped into a mental patient and had to undergo shock treatment.

Then he frowned. "The only problem is, if I do go out in the sunlight, and it turns out that's_ not_ what I'm here to do..."

"You'll fry like an omelet," Al supplied helpfully. Sam shot him a dark look. "Sorry," said Al with a shrug.

Sam had a thought. "Al, what eventually happened to Barnabas Collins? He couldn't have kept killing people indefinitely. Didn't he get caught?"

Al punched some buttons on the handlink. "Now that's interesting," he said, peering at the data. "Apparently the murders just stopped. There was one more tonight, and that was it." He took a worried puff of his cigar. "Barnabas was still around, though. I wonder what made him stop."

"I guess we'll find out in a day or two," said Sam uneasily. He didn't like surprises.

Al hit a few more buttons. "Ziggy says there's a 78 chance you're supposed to just hang out here and not kill anyone until whatever happens, happens."

"But I can't," protested Sam. "For all intents and purposes, I'm a vampire. What'll I do about..." He trailed off lamely.

"Lunch? Yeah, that _is _a problem." Al scratched his head. "What about cows?"

"I'm not going to bite a cow, Al," said Sam firmly.

"You may have to," Al pointed out logically. "You're a vampire. Vampires need blood."

"I am not going to drink blood!" Sam was starting to get upset. He forced himself to calm down. "There has to be another way. Let's look at this logically, from the beginning. Why would vampires need to drink blood?"

Al thought about it, then snapped his fingers. "Because they're bloodthirsty demons from hell."

"Thanks," said Sam sarcastically. He returned to the problem. "All organisms need to eat,' in one form or another, in order to get nutrients to use as fuel."

"Sam, this isn't getting us anywhere," said Al.

"Shh, let me think a minute," said Sam, preoccupied. "Humans eat solid food, which is broken down in the digestive system and absorbed into the bloodstream. Vampires can't eat the solid food humans do, but they do drink human blood. Maybe vampires need some of the same nutrients humans do, but they can't digest solids. So they drink blood, in which all the nutrients have already been digested."

"So?"

"So, if I can figure out exactly which nutrients in blood vampires need, maybe I can put together something that I can drink instead."

Al looked skeptical. "You're going to throw some stuff in a blender and come up with fake blood?"

"No, of course not," said Sam. I can't synthesize hemoglobin or anything like that. But maybe I can at least get something together that will help the hunger, just until we figure out what makes Barnabas stop killing."

Al shook his head. "Sam, we're dealing with the supernatural here. Ghosts, goblins, zombies - stuff like that. Basically, you're one of the living dead. I don't think taking a couple of vitamins is gonna help."

"Well, it's worth a try," said Sam stubbornly. "Go get Ziggy to print out the chemical composition of blood. He can be more precise than I can."

Al wasn't convinced, but he zapped back to the present. At least it would keep Sam busy and distract him from his hunger.

An hour later, Sam gave Willie a bizarre shopping list with everything he thought might be of use - everything from eggs to hamburger to hydrochloric acid, plus a battery-operated blender.

"What's all this for, anyway?" asked Willie, looking at the list.

"It's too complicated to explain," said Sam.

Willie shook his head. "I don't even know what half this stuff is. What's 'lipase'?"'

"It's an enzyme," explained Sam. "It breaks down fat in the digestive system. You can get it at a pharmaceutical supply house."

Willie looked doubtful. "I've never seen a place like that in Collinsport. Maybe in Bangor."

"How far is Bangor?" asked Sam.

"About an hour and a half each way."

"Hmmm. What is you left now, and stayed overnight? Then you could buy everything in the morning. Would you mind?" asked Sam apologetically. "I know it's a long trip, but it's very important that I have these things by tomorrow night."

"Sure, if that's what you want," said Willie, confused by Sam's courtesy.

"Thanks. I appreciate it," said Sam gratefully.

Willie's eyes narrowed. "What are you plannin', Barnabas? You been actin' real strange lately." Sam didn't know what to say. Willie eyed him suspiciously, but decided not to push it for now. He picked up the car keys and started to leave. At the door, he turned.

"Oh, I almost forgot. That historian came by again, Julia Hoffman. Said she wanted to ask ya some more questions for the book she's writin' on the Collins family. I told her you weren't home."

"Oh. Thanks," said Sam. Willie left. Sam wondered for a moment about the unknown Julia Hoffman, then forgot about her. She sounded like a harmless historian. He hoped she wasn't depending on him to help finish her book. All he knew about the Collins family were the bits he'd read in the family history.

He sat down and ran over possible formula combinations in his mind. But his elation at having a concrete plan soon faded, leaving him depressed. Al was probably right - it was a crazy idea. Even if by some miracle it _did_ work, Sam still had a long, hungry night to get through.

Starving was more like it, he thought. He paced restlessly though the house, unable to keep still. Finally he decided to go for a walk. Outside, he unconsciously followed the path, and found himself in front of the second house, Collinwood.

He looked at it indecisively. He didn't want to see anyone, the way he was feeling. He turned to go back to the Old House.

"Barnabas!" Sam looked around and saw Vicki watching him from the garden. She was wearing a sleeveless white dress of some ethereal material that almost seemed to float in the night breeze. With the fountain behind her, she looked like an Impressionist painting.

"I was just thinking about you," said Vicki as Sam came up to her. "I was playing the music box you gave me." She held up a delicate antique music box inlaid with ornate designs in gold. She opened it, and an old-fashioned melody tinkled out into the darkness. "I was sitting here listening to it, and wondering what you were doing, and then, there you were, just as if you'd read my mind." She smiled, cocking her head to the side.

Sam swallowed as her dark hair fell away with her movement, exposing her ivory neck. Despite himself, he couldn't take his eyes away from it. He was painfully aware of his needle-sharp fangs, which were almost tingling in anticipation.

"Barnabas? Are you all right?" asked Vicki with concern.

"Yeah," said Sam, turning away with difficulty. He looked up at the moon, trying not to imagine what it would be like to sink his fangs into her soft white throat.

"Let's go inside," Vicki suggested. "Mrs. Stoddard was just saying she wished you'd visit more often."

She was standing close to him now. He could smell her perfume, and underneath it, the musky smell of her blood, rich and warm, pulsing through her veins...

"I have to go," he said abruptly, backing away from her. "There's something I have to do."

Vicki was disappointed. "Well, I hope you can come again soon."

"Sure, Vicki." Sam turned and almost fled down the path to the Old House.

He felt tainted and dirty. He wished he could take a long, hot bath and scrub himself clean of the experience. _There I was_, he thought guiltily,_ talking to that_ _sweet innocent girl, and all I could think about was how much I wanted to drink her blood_. He shuddered in disgust. _That formula_ has_ to work_, he thought. _I can't hang on much longer._

How did Barnabas stand it? Sam wondered as he approached the Old House. Maybe he was so evil he just didn't care.

Or maybe being forced to live like this for centuries had _made_ him evil, Sam reflected. What did it do to a person, to be immortal at the cost of others' lives? For all Sam knew, Barnabas might have been normal - even kind and decent - as a human, so long ago. There was no way of knowing how he might have changed as a result of the constant bloodlust.

Just as there was no way of knowing how Sam might change if he had to struggle with the temptation much longer.

_No_, he decided. _I won't live that way. If the formula doesn't work and I feel that I'm losing control, I'll go out in the sunlight, and pray that I Leap in time. Even if I don't, at least it'll be over._

The thought was not a comforting one.


	4. Chapter 4

Night fell. Sam woke and sat up to see Willie standing there watching him.

"Hello," said Sam, feeling a little absurd to be holding a conversation from a coffin.

The young man looked tense. "What's the matter?" Sam asked.

Willie hesitated. "I-I couldn't get all the stuff you wanted," he said timidly.

"Oh." Sam was disappointed. He swung his legs over the side of the coffin and awkwardly stood up.

Willie said quickly, "I tried, Barnabas, I really did. I went to every drugstore in Bangor, and I found a medical supply house like you said. I even tried the hospitals. But some of the things they said you have to have a note from a doctor to get. For some of 'em, you even have to _be_ a doctor." He scanned Sam's face anxiously.

"Great," said Sam, annoyed at himself for not thinking of that. He'd been a doctor for so long - and then a celebrated physicist with a government grant - that he just assumed he could obtain any chemical he wanted.

Well, he would just have to do his best with whatever they could get.

"Willie-" he began, then stopped as Willie nervously backed away from him.

Sam was confused for a second. Then he remembered the bruises on the young man's arm, and the fang marks on his wrist. He felt a stab of guilt, seeing the fear in Willie's eyes, even though he knew that _he_ wasn't really responsible.

"It's okay, Willie," he said hastily. "It was my fault - I should have realized that controlled substances can't be sold over the counter. Thank you for trying, though."

Willie relaxed slightly, though he kept his eyes on Sam. "What d'ya need all that stuff for, anyway?"

Sam began to unpack the supplies. "I'm going to try to make a formula that I can drink instead of blood," he explained.

"Really?" Willie's eyes widened. "Can ya do that?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "But I can try." He got to work, with Willie assisting.

A couple of hours later, Al materialized to see Sam standing over a complex assortments of pots, bottles and test tubes, connected by rubber tubing. "You look like a sixth grader at a science fair," Al commented. He peered over one of the pots. "Yuck. What's this?"

Sam pretended to explain to Willie, who was watching curiously. "That's liver and bananas. I'm distilling it to get the iron, magnesium, and potassium."

Al made a face. "You'd never get me to drink that. It reminds me of my ex-wife Sharon." Sam looked at him quizzically. "She was a real fitness nut," Al explained. "She used to make these weird health shakes, with raw eggs and wheat germ and God knows what else." He shuddered.

Eventually the mixture was done. Al and Willie watched with bated breath as Sam poured it into a glass. "Well, here goes," he muttered, feeling like a mad scientist in a '50s monster movie. He took a sip, then greedily drank it down. It was such a relief to be drinking something.

Hmmm. It wasn't bad, actually. At least it didn't make him sick. And it helped a little - took the sharpest edge off his hunger. But it wasn't nearly enough. He felt like a starving man who'd been given a bowl of soup; it was something in his stomach, but he was still ravenous. Soon he was going to have to have blood, formula or no formula.

"Well?" asked Al and Willie simultaneously.

Sam shook his head. "It'll hold me for a day or two, but no more than that." They looked disappointed.

Al said, "I'll go see if Ziggy's come up with any bright ideas." Sam nodded, and Al disappeared.

Sam poured the rest of the formula into bottles. "I'll take this upstairs. Willie, would you mind clearing up here?"

"Sure, Barnabas."

Sam went upstairs and put the bottles into the old-fashioned icebox. Too bad Barnabas didn't have electricity; then he could have had a real refrigerator, Sam thought.

He felt discouraged. Although he'd pretended to have modest expectations, deep down he'd secretly hoped the formula would work perfectly and completely erase the bloodlust.

Well, at least he no longer felt like he was about to lose control. That was a relief. And he'd bought them some extra time. Maybe Ziggy would come up with something.

There was a knock at the door. Sam opened it, half-expecting to see Vicki. Instead, he was greeted by a middle-aged woman with short red hair, a conservative suit, and shrewd brown eyes. She looked like the type who took control of any situation.

She stood erect, meeting Sam's gaze frankly. "Good evening, Mr. Collins. May I come in?"

"Of course," said Sam, stepping aside. He wondered if he was supposed to know her.

"I stopped by yesterday - I don't know if Willie told you," said the woman as she drew off her gloves.

Oh, yes. The historian. What was her name? Joanna? No, that wasn't right.

"Willie did mention it," said Sam. I'm sorry I wasn't home. I was away on business."

"Were you," she said non-committally.

Sam changed the subject. "How's your book coming along? Willie said you needed some more information." Not that he had any to give her, he thought.

"No, I've gotten all the information I need," she said with a slight smile.

"Good," said Sam, trying to recall her name. Something with a J, definitely. Something like...Julia, that was it. Julia Hoffman. "So, what can I do for you, Miss Hoffman?" he asked pleasantly.

"Well, in the course of my investigations, I learned some things about the Collins family that I thought you'd be interested in," she said.

Sam nodded. Of course - Barnabas was a big history buff. He offered her a seat, prepared to hear a lengthy discourse. "Sounds intriguing. What did you find out?"

She remained standing. Reaching into her handbag, she said calmly, "I found out what you are, Mr. Collins." With that, she pulled out a large wooden cross.

"Oh, boy," gulped Sam, involuntarily stepping back. He didn't know what to do. The cross seemed to give off a powerful force field, repelling him. It also radiated intense heat - he knew if he got too close to it, he'd get burned.

_Al, where are you?_ he thought in a panic. _I'm in _trouble_ here._ Why hadn't Ziggy warned him about this?

Julia had the cross trained on him like a gun. She took a step forward, forcing him back. "You see, I'm actually a doctor; a hematologist, to be precise. I treated Maggie Evans after she was rescued. When I examined her blood, I knew at once that there was something bizarre in this case - so bizarre it bordered on the supernatural." Her eyes gleamed with excitement. "I came here and posed as a historian, so that no one would be suspicious when I asked a lot of prying questions.

"Eventually the trail led me to you. I've been observing you for some time, Mr. Collins. But it was only at our last meeting that my suspicions were confirmed, when I looked in my makeup mirror and saw your lack of a reflection." She gripped the cross tighter. "You are Barnabas Collins - the_ only_ Barnabas Collins, who supposedly died over 130 years ago. You are one of the living dead," she pronounced dramatically.

There was no point in denying it; she had him backed against the wall, wincing under the power of the cross. Somewhere, way in the back of his mind, he was hurt that a symbol of God could be used against him. After all, God was the one who had gotten him into this mess.

His eyes darted around the room, seeking an escape. There was none. Sam thought quickly. He could call Willie, but the servant was in the basement and might not hear. Even if he did, it would take him time to get across the basement, up the stairs and into the drawing room. Meanwhile, Julia Hoffman would know that help was coming, and might kill Sam then and there.

She hadn't killed him yet, though. That was a good sign. Maybe he could distract her until Willie came back upstairs on his own. Sam tried to smile. "Uh, couldn't we discuss this like rational adults?" he said, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone.

Julia blinked in surprise. "Of course, Mr. Collins. That's why I'm here." She sat down on the couch.

Sam gave a sigh of relief. He sat on the other end of the couch, as far away from her as possible. "Could you put that away?" he asked nervously.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "All right," she said finally. "But you must give me your word that you will not try to harm me."

"I promise," said Sam.

Julia eyed him warily, then returned the cross to her purse. "I mean you no harm, Mr. Collins. I only wanted to protect myself until you heard what I have to say." She leaned forward. "I believe I can help you."

"Help me? How?"

"By finding a cure for your condition."

Sam's eyes widened. "A cure - of course," he murmured to himself. "Why didn't I think of that?" He looked at her. "Is it possible?"

"It wasn't possible 130-odd years ago, but it is possible now," said Julia. "I've spent my lifetime studying conditions such as yours."

Sam was startled. "You've met other vampires?"

She shook her head. "You're the only one I've encountered. That's why I need you." Her voice grew low and intense. "From the time I entered medical school, I've been fascinated by the relationship of life to death. I believe that one is a continuance of the other, and that someday they will merge, and life will not terminate. That day is close at hand, now that I've found you."

Sam recognized the passion in her voice. She sounded just like he had when he'd first conceived of the Quantum Leap project. He smiled. "I'm all in favor of advancing science. But how will you do it?"

She explained slowly and a little patronizingly, as though humoring him. "The basis of your problem is the destructive nature of your blood. There's an imbalance which causes more cells to be destroyed than replaced. My objective, then, is to alter the cellular structure of your blood, by introducing a new plasma into your arterial system."

Sam sighed. She was oversimplifying it for a layman - a layman whose knowledge was 130 years out of date, no less. Well, he could get the specifics later, when they actually started working.

He began to get enthusiastic. It would be fun to work on a challenging scientific project again - that was something he never got to do in his Leaping around. And he would enjoy working with Julia. She appeared to be competent and intelligent, with a love of science and a strong thirst for knowledge. She was a kindred spirit.

"It sounds great," he said. "When do we start?"

At that moment, Willie came into the room. He stopped at the sight of Julia.

"Come on in, Willie," said Sam. "I'm just talking to Dr. Hoffman."

"Doctor?" said Willie, puzzled. "I thought she was a historian."

"So did I," said Sam. "But it turns out that she's a doctor. And she thinks she can cure my condition."

Willie stared at Julia. "Can you?"

"I'm almost certain," she said confidently. She turned to Sam. "I'll need a place to set up a laboratory."

"We can fix up one of the rooms in the basement," said Sam enthusiastically. "Willie, could you show her the way down?"

"Sure," said Willie. He led Julia to the basement.

A few minutes later, they returned. "There's one room down there that would do perfectly," said Julia. "We can start tomorrow."

"Great," said Sam. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Good night," said Julia, and left.

Sam sat down on the couch and closed his eyes, feeling as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. It had been a stressful evening. But now, finally, everything was working out. He couldn't wait to tell Al.

Willie looked thoughtfully at the door through which Julia had exited. "She told me about what she was gonna do, the kind of experiments she was gonna make," he said. "Is it true, Barnabas? Can she really cure ya?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted.

"It would be good if she could," Willie said softly.

Sam opened his eyes at the wistful note in his voice. Willie looked uncertain, as though he wanted desperately to hope but was afraid it might be snatched away.

"Yeah," agreed Sam with a sigh. He wished he could do something for Willie. Well, maybe he could. He'd have to ask Al about that. "Anyway, I'm sure Julia will do her best," he said.

"Will she, though?" asked Willie, looking worried. "I mean, is it on the level?"

"On the level?" Sam was confused.

Willie shook his head. "Barnabas, think. She just comes outta nowhere, says she's a doctor, and all she's ever wanted to do is cure a vampire. You can't just believe that without checkin' it out."

Put that way, it did sound uncomfortably coincidental, Sam realized.

"Why does she wanna help you?" Willie asked. "What's she gettin' out of the deal?"

"She wants to make a scientific breakthrough and expand the boundaries of medicine," explained Sam.

"Are you sure?" persisted Willie.

Sam thought about it. "What else could she want?"

Willie shrugged. "I dunno. Could be a lotta things. Maybe she's just gettin' enough evidence together so she can go to the cops. Or maybe she's gonna blackmail ya. Or maybe she's even plannin' to kill ya."

Sam swallowed. His mood of relief was rapidly evaporating. "But if she wanted to kill me, she could have done it at any time," he protested. "She had a cross."

"Yeah, but it would've been risky," argued Willie. "This way, she gets you to let her inject stuff right into your arm."

He had a point. Sam looked at him in concern. "Well, I can't just cancel the experiment."

"No," Willie said hastily. "I mean, if she _can_ cure ya..." He let the thought trail off. "It's worth tryin', for sure. I'm just sayin' be careful. Make sure she's on the up-and-up."

"Right." Sam thought it over carefully. Her story seemed logical enough. And her scientific curiosity - he hadn't imagined that. Anyway, he was a medical genius. He could watch carefully to see exactly what she was giving him. "I think I can trust her, Willie," he said finally. "At least for now. Don't worry."

"Okay, if you say so," said Willie.

Sam looked at him with new eyes. "Willie, what made you think she might be lying?" he asked curiously.

Willie shrugged. "I seen all kinds of scams," he said dismissively. "Me and Jason used to be the biggest con artists around."

"Really?" Sam had already figured Jason for a swindler - he had the smooth, oily manner of a used car salesman - but Willie was a surprise.

"Sure. That's how I know the first trick is to offer someone whatever they want more'n anything. 'Cause if they want it bad enough, they won't look too close at the guy who gives it to 'em."

Sam was intrigued. "What kind of things did you do?"

Willie sat down in the wing chair. "Well, like one time there was this rich lady. Jason found out that when she was young, she got pregnant and had to give the kid up, and she felt real bad about it. She'd been tryin' to find him ever since. So me n Jason bribed one of her detectives to say I was the kid."

"Did she believe it?" asked Sam.

"Sure she did, for a while. Then the detective got teed off 'cause Jason wouldn't give him a bigger cut, an' he blew our cover. But the thing is, she _wanted_ to believe I was her kid. So she didn't ask too many questions." Willie was silent a moment. When he spoke again, it was almost to himself.

"It's funny, I haven't thought about her for a long time. She was a pretty nice lady, actually. Always treated me good." He looked faintly troubled.

"And you're sorry you tricked her," Sam said gently, watching him.

Willie stood up abruptly. "Yeah, well, it wasn't the first rotten thing I've done. I almost got run out of Collinsport a while back. Mrs. Stoddard still won't talk to me 'cause I stole a fancy pin from her once." His voice softened. "Vicki forgave me, though."

"Vicki?" asked Sam, not seeing the connection.

Willie looked a little embarrassed. "I used to kinda give her a hard time. You know - I'd block her way, tell her we should get together, that we could have a real good time. I was just foolin' around, I didn't mean nothin' by it. I didn't know that she was really scared of me." He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I was a real louse."

"But not anymore," said Sam, hearing the self-loathing in his voice. "Look, the past is over. What matters is that you regret the things you've done, and you've changed. You're not like that now."

That struck Willie as funny. He gave a short, bitter laugh. "No, now I just take care of a vampire, so he can kill people without gettin' caught. I'm a real model citizen." As Sam was about to speak, Willie held up his hand, interrupting. "I know, I know. I let ya out of the coffin, so I'm just as responsible as you are. You don't have to tell me." He sat down, dejected.

There was a moment of awkward silence. Sam decided to change the subject. "Uh...where did you live before you came to Collinsport?" Judging from Willie's Southern accent, he wasn't a New England native.

"Hmmm? Oh, all over," said Willie. "I left home when I was 15 and bummed around a while. Then I met Jason, and we travelled around a lot. Went to sea a couple of times."

"What was it like?"

Willie thought about it. "We were always gettin' drunk, and startin' fights, and pickin' up girls." A faint smile crossed his face.

"Half the time we were loaded an' livin' like kings," he continued. The other half we were flat broke and runnin' outta town with the cops on our tail." He grinned, and Sam caught a glimpse of the daring, reckless boy he had once been. "We were always lookin' for that one big score - the one that would put us on Easy Street for the rest of our lives. That was all we dreamed about."

Sam was fascinated; at Willie's age he'd spent most of his time in a laboratory. "What about now? Is that still your dream, the big score?" he asked with interest.

Willie's smile abruptly vanished. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You know what I want," he said bitterly. "Why are ya askin' me all these questions, anyway?"

Sam belatedly remembered that Barnabas was Willie's enemy. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry," he said awkwardly.

"Yeah?" muttered Willie. "Well, I'll tell ya what I dream about. I dream about bein' someplace where there's no ghosts, or dead people, and not havin' to always feel like something terrible is gonna happen any minute." He glared at Sam.

Sam felt that he'd come close to gaining Willie's trust. Now that chance was lost. The thought saddened him. "I'm just nervous about the experiment, I guess, and I wanted to talk," he explained.

That caught Willie's attention. He looked curiously at Sam. "You're really scared about this thing, aren't ya?" he said thoughtfully. "I didn't think anything could scare you."

"Well, you were wrong." Sam got up and went to the window. He thought about the conversation. Why did Leaping always have to be so complicated? Sam wanted very much to just release Willie, tell him to leave town. But he couldn't - Willie might be in danger when the real Barnabas returned.

At times like this, Sam wished fervently that he could have a normal, predictable life again. What he wouldn't give...

Willie watched him. Barnabas was such a mystery to him sometimes. "Anyway, what about you?" he asked.

"Hmmm?" Sam was preoccupied.

"What's _your _big dream?" asked Willie.

Sam stared unseeingly at the rain. "To go home," he said softly. Usually he was too busy to think about it. But now the faces of his mother and sister rose to his mind. How were they doing? Had Katie ever left that abusive husband of hers? Was she okay?

And his brother...Tom had originally died in Vietnam in 1970. In his Leaping, Sam had changed that, and for that he was grateful. But now he realized that in 1997, Tom was 27 years older. He had lived 27 years of personal history that Sam knew nothing about. Was he married? Did Sam have nephews and nieces he'd never seen? Sam couldn't even picture what Tom must look like now - all he knew was the young, idealistic soldier. His brother was as lost to him as if he_ had_ been killed. At that moment, Sam missed his family more than he ever had before. He wondered if he would ever see any of them again.

Willie spoke from behind him. "I guess you miss your own time, huh?"

Startled, Sam turned. It was as though Willie had read his mind. "What?"

"It must've been tough," said Willie. Growin' up in the 1700s, then gettin' locked in a coffin and comin' out 200 years later." Willie had never thought about it until now, seeing that lost expression on Barnabas' face.

"Yeah, it is strange," said Sam slowly. Suddenly he felt he could relate to Barnabas Collins. He tried to explain. "Everyone you've ever known or loved is gone forever. Everything around you is unfamiliar. But you have to pretend that you belong here, that you're just like everyone else. Your whole life is a lie. And every second, you have to be careful of what you say; one wrong word, and someone might get suspicious."

Willie was listening intently. Sam walked a few steps away, thinking. Barnabas was in a much worse situation than he was, Sam realized. What did it do to a person, being locked in a small, dark space for two centuries? You'd go mad, Sam thought with a shudder. And then coming out and being a vampire...

"Imagine how you'd feel," said Sam, thinking aloud. "Lost in an unfamiliar time, totally alone, knowing that if anyone suspects what you are, they'll kill you. You'd want to be on guard every minute." Then a thought struck him. "But you _can't_ be on guard. Half the time you're unconscious - completely helpless. Completely dependent on someone else to protect you."

Sam looked at Willie with sudden insight. "And sometimes, when you're that dependent on someone, it frightens you. Having so little control over your life makes you paranoid. So whenever anything goes wrong, you get scared, and you need to blame someone. You lash out, become...cruel. Even though it's wrong."

Willie stared at Sam in astonishment. He had never heard Barnabas talk that way.

Sam was silent a moment. Then he said, "I never thanked you for saving my life the other night."

"What?" Willie was baffled.

"When you pulled me out of the sunlight," explained Sam. "You saved my life."

Willie didn't know what to say. "Well, I...I gotta protect ya. I know that," he said uncertainly.

"I owe you a lot," said Sam. He hesitated. He wanted to promise that nothing horrible would happen to Willie again, but he couldn't. Finally he said quietly, "I'm sorry everything turned out this way."

Willie didn't answer. After a moment, he glanced out the window. "It's almost dawn," was his only comment.

"Yeah," said Sam. He hesitated a moment, feeling that he should say something more. Finally he turned and went down to the basement. Willie watched him go, wondering.


	5. Chapter 5

Barnabas Collins was frightened. Not that he would ever admit it. He looked about him with a cool appraising air, never losing his dignity. But underneath his commanding demeanor, his mind was in turmoil. He couldn't fathom what was going on at all.

At first, when he suddenly found himself in this stark white room amid a shimmer of blue light, he was certain it was the work of Angelique. The witch had finally learned of his escape from the coffin and had returned to torment him. But four days had passed with no sign of her. That wasn't like Angelique. If she had brought him here, she would have appeared to him, gloating - or at the very least, he would have heard her cruel, taunting laughter bubbling invisibly from the blank walls. She was not one to remain discreetly hidden, or avoid a chance to boast of her triumph. No, this was not Angelique's doing.

But if the witch hadn't done this, then who had? And what exactly had been done to him? He had felt strange ever since arriving here - completely unlike himself. He had been relieved to find no windows in the room, so there was no danger of sunlight. But he had worried about how to obtain blood in this sterile white prison - worried, that is, until he gradually realized he didn't desire blood. His hunger was of a different kind.

Then that strange, coarse man with the loud suit and the cigar had brought him a hastily assembled meal, with apologies, and left. As Barnabas looked at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, he suddenly felt a sensation he had not known in centuries. With trembling fingers, he picked up the sandwich and gingerly took a tiny bite. It was delicious. He had forgotten what food, real food, was like - the texture, the sensation of chewing and swallowing. He finished it quickly. He had a little trouble figuring out how to open the soft drink can - it was that dark, bubbly stuff they called Coca-Cola - but once he did, he was fascinated by the taste. So this was the stuff little David whined for at every opportunity - this syrupy sweet, heavy liquid that frothed like champagne.

He felt completely out of his depth. He was thrilled and elated to be able to eat, but terrified too. What was happening to him? Was that strange man responsible? And if so, why? He had been here for four days, but aside from asking him a few questions, no one had told him what they wanted from him or why they had brought him here.

The door opened. The odd man entered. This time he was wearing a button-down shirt with pink-and-green metallic stripes. In his hand he held his omnipresent cigar. Barnabas didn't trust men who smoked cigars - they were coarse, common things, more suited to those who frequented gambling dens and brothels than to a true gentleman.

"Hi. How do you feel?" asked the man cheerfully.

Barnabas replied suspiciously, "Why do you ask?"

The man sighed. "Listen. My name's Al. I know this has been tough on you. But the truth is, we're trying to help you. Honest."

"Help me?" said Barnabas skeptically. "By keeping me prisoner?"

Al scratched his head. "Yeah, well, we didn't plan on that either," he admitted. "Usually it only takes a day or two."

"Usually?" Barnabas repeated indignantly. "Is this a common practice of yours, to abduct people from their homes?"

Al evaded the question. "Look, with any luck you'll be home in a couple of days. Okay? Just try to hang in there."

"But why are you holding me here?" Barnabas insisted.

"I can't tell you. It's the rules," Al explained apologetically. "But we _are_ here to help you, I promise."

Barnabas' eyes narrowed. "Have you...done something to me?" he asked cautiously.

"Like what?" asked Al.

Barnabas hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Ever since I arrived here, I've felt...strange, different. It's hard to describe. And that food you gave me - normally it wouldn't have...agreed with me. I have to adhere to a restricted diet. For health reasons."

Al nodded in understanding. "Oh, yeah, the vampire thing. Don't worry about that."

Barnabas was shocked. "What do you mean?"

Al hesitated. It was always such a fine line, deciding how much he was allowed to tell their guests. "Well, to be honest, at the moment, you're, um, not a vampire," he said lamely.

"But how can this be?" asked Barnabas, thunderstruck.

Al sighed. "That's one of the things I'm not allowed to tell you," he said apologetically. Sorry."

"Is this...permanent?" Barnabas asked, catching his breath.

"Not so far," Al admitted. "But we're working on it."

"So - you're trying to cure my condition," said Barnabas slowly, fitting the pieces together. "Somehow you've discovered what I am, and you're attempting to change me back - for some purpose of your own, presumably," he added cynically.

At was relieved that Barnabas had begun coming up with explanations of his own, instead of demanding answers from Al. They all reached that point sooner or later.

"Who else knows about this?" asked Barnabas. "The Collinses?"

That wasn't forbidden information, Al decided. "Just Julia Hoffman."

Barnabas frowned. "The historian?"

"No, Julia's really a doctor. She's the one trying to cure you."

"Extraordinary. May I talk to her?"

Al shifted uncomfortably. "No, she's, uh, very busy. She can't be disturbed."

"I see." Barnabas fell silent, thinking of the implications. To be human again...was it truly possible? He looked up. "You say that right now, I'm not...what I was?"

Al nodded. "Yeah, for now you're normal."

"Then may I be permitted to go outside?" Barnabas' voice was filled with yearning.

"Well, I don't know. You're supposed to stay here," Al said doubtfully.

"Please," said Barnabas earnestly. "I have not seen the light of day, nor felt the warmth of the sun, for nearly 200 years. Now you tell me that I am free of the curse, but possibly only for a short time. I must see the sun while I can. You cannot be so heartless as to deny me this."

"Well..." Al had to give in. "All right. But be very quiet, and don't tell any one I took you out of here."

He led the former vampire through the maze of tunnels and up the stairs till they reached the roof of the complex. Al pushed open the door. Barnabas, standing in the shadows, looked out at the day with terrible longing.

Al stepped outside, then turned in surprise when Barnabas didn't follow. "Come on. You're the one that wanted to go outside."

Barnabas moved slightly toward the door, then hung back at the last second, suddenly afraid.

Al spoke more gently. "It's okay. It can't hurt you now. Come on."

Cautiously Barnabas stepped into the light, bracing himself for a catastrophe. Nothing happened. Slowly he raised his eyes to the sky. "How warm the sun is," he said wonderingly. "I had forgotten the beauty of the day - the colors, and the light. The blue of the sky." He turned suddenly to Al. "How long will it last?" he asked urgently. He couldn't bear the thought of losing that which he had been denied so long.

"Permanently, if everything works out," said Al encouragingly.

"But you're not certain," pressed Barnabas.

"Well, no. But it's working out so far. Dr. Hoffman says we'll know for sure within ten days."

"Ten days," murmured Barnabas.

"Anyway, let's get back to the Waiting Room before anyone notices you're gone, or I could get in big trouble."

Barnabas allowed Al to lead him surreptitiously through the maze. But as they rounded a corner, Al collided head-on with a tall black woman in a white lab coat, who glared at him disapprovingly.

"_Mr._ Calavicci," she said sternly. "Just where do you think you're taking Mr. Collins?"

"Back to the Waiting Room," said Al innocently.

"And what was he doing _out_ of the Waiting Room?" she asked imperiously.

"Aww, lighten up, Verbena. He just wanted to go up on the roof, that's all. He hasn't seen sunlight in 200 years. I didn't see any harm in bringing him up there."

She drew him aside. "Temporal displacement is a deeply traumatic experience, Admiral," she said firmly. "It is vital that we maintain equilibrium to the fullest extent possible by keeping our guests in a single, stable environment. Aside from which, if he were to notice any...abnormalities, the effect on the time continuum could be disastrous."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But we're out here in the desert. What's he gonna see?" Al argued. "Look, Dr. Beeks, you're here to make sure our visitors don't freak out, right? If we've gotta keep Mr. Collins here for more than a week, I think we owe it to him to give him whatever he wants, within reason. Don't you agree?"

The woman looked doubtful. Al added, "Come on, the poor guy can't even remember what sunlight looks like. Give him a break."

Barnabas, who stood by almost forgotten during this discussion, now stepped forward. "Madame, if I may be permitted to speak, this man has done me a great favor. I do not understand why you find it necessary to keep me here, but if your plans will enable me to once again walk in the daylight, I shall be most deeply indebted to you."

Dr. Beeks sighed. "Oh, all right. I guess we can set up a Waiting Room outside," she said grudgingly, adding to Al, "But don't you ever go sneaking people around the installation again. It's too dangerous."

"You got it, doc," said Al cheerfully. After she left, shaking her head, he said to Barnabas, "Well, that's good. At least as long as you're here, you can relax and get a tan or whatever. Hey, you must be hungry by now. You want something to eat? I'll get you whatever you want.

Something to eat. Barnabas still couldn't believe that it was possible. He thought of the elaborate dinners in his parents' house - the long dining table, the wine, roast pheasant, stewed venison...Suddenly he had an idea. "I'd like to eat something from modern times," he said curiously. "What would a typical person eat in 1967?"

Al grinned. "No problem. I'll run into town and get you a cheeseburger, fries and a milkshake."


	6. Chapter 6

The hypodermic needle slid into Sam's arm. He tensed a moment, then relaxed. He was feeling optimistic. In the week since Julia had started the injections, he could feel his body changing, going back to normal. He could face sunlight for almost an hour now, and he could hold a cross without discomfort. And he hadn't had any desire for blood since the first shot.

"How do you feel?" asked Julia.

"Fine," said Sam.

Julia put the hypo back into her medical bag. "You're making remarkable progress, Barnabas," she said. At this rate, you should be cured within a few days."

"That's a relief," said Sam. "We should celebrate. I know, let's go to the Blue Whale." He was in such a good mood, he didn't want to spend the evening in the creaky Old House.

"I'd like to," said Julia, "but I'm afraid I can't. I have to check on one of my patients. But why don't you stop by Collinwood on your way back?"

"Okay," said Sam. He turned to Willie. "How about it? Feel like going to the Blue Whale?"

Willie was surprised to be asked, but said, "Yeah, sure."

They drove into town. Sam reflected on the change in Willie since the night Julia had proposed the experiment. Neither man had mentioned their conversation of that night, yet things had subtly changed. Willie was a lot calmer, for one thing. He was still cautious, and didn't trust Sam entirely, but he had lost that constant nervousness, and no longer jumped whenever Sam made a sudden movement. Once or twice, while talking to Sam, he'd sounded almost friendly. Sam was glad that Willie was starting to trust him, but he worried that he might be harming Willie more than helping him if Barnabas were to Leap back unchanged.

Willie, meanwhile, was wondering about Barnabas. Had he really changed for good? It didn't seem possible, but for almost two weeks now Barnabas had acted totally different - like a regular guy. He almost seemed sorry he'd done all those horrible things. If Barnabas really_ had_ changed - and if the cure worked and Barnabas became normal - was there a chance he might let Willie go? Willie was afraid to ask, but the idea was always on his mind. He figured he'd wait till the cure was done, and then see what happened.

They reached the bar and parked. Inside, Sam saw Carolyn and Buzz dancing. Carolyn was giggling and looked a little drunk.

Buzz noticed Sam and Willie and raised a hand in greeting. "Hey, cats, what's going down?"

Carolyn turned around, swaying a little. "Barnabas! How are you?" Then she noticed Willie, and the warmth left her voice. "Hello, Willie," she said stiffly.

"Hi," said Willie.

Carolyn threw an arm around her boyfriend's leather-clad shoulder. "Buzz, go get me a drink."

He spread his hands innocently. "I'd like to, babe, but in the bread department, I'm Nowheresville."

"I'll buy the drinks," offered Sam. "What would you like?"

"Thank you, Barnabas," said Carolyn, slurring her words slightly. "_You_ are a true gentleman. I'll have a rum and Coke."

"Beer for me, man," said Buzz, sitting down at a table and pulling Carolyn onto his lap.

Willie offered, "I'll get the drinks if you want, Barnabas."

"Thanks, Willie." Sam gave him the money. "I'll have a Coke."

Carolyn watched disdainfully as Willie went to the bar. "Honestly, Barnabas, I'll never understand why you hired that man."

"Willie's okay," Sam defended. "You should give him a chance."

Carolyn shook her head. "No, thanks. Any friend of Jason McGuire's is no friend of mine," she said emphatically.

Sam recalled his encounter with McGuire on the night he'd Leaped in. "Are you upset about Jason marrying your mother?" he asked sympathetically.

Carolyn laughed. "Upset? No, why should I be upset? Mother can marry whomever she chooses. And so can I." She kissed Buzz, almost defiantly.

Buzz ruffled her hair. "Listen, doll, I gotta go to the can. I'll be back in a sec." He left the table.

"My knight in shining armor," Carolyn commented ironically.

"Are you really getting married?" asked Sam, uncertain whether she'd been joking.

"Of course," she said breezily. "I will marry Buzz on the day my mother marries Jason McGuire. How's that for togetherness?" She laughed, but her eyes were filled with determination.

Sam said uneasily, "You shouldn't marry someone just to get back at your mother."

"Who says that's what I'm doing?" said Carolyn archly. "I'm marrying Buzz because I _love_ him. The way my mother loves the charming Mr. McGuire," she added sarcastically.

"Maybe she _does_ love him," Sam suggested gently.

Carolyn's careless facade vanished. "She _doesn't _love him," she said bitterly. "She hates him. It's obvious every time she looks at him."

"Then why is she marrying him?" asked Sam.

"I think he's got some kind of hold over her," said Carolyn, her voice tinged with concern. "She would never marry him of her own free will."

Sam wondered if Carolyn was right. He remembered what Willie had told him about Jason's schemes. "What kind of hold do you think he has over her?"

Carolyn sighed. "I don't know. I've tried every way I can think of to find out." She looked up as Willie approached. Her eyes narrowed. "Ask your friend Willie. I bet he knows all about it."

"Ask me what?" said Willie, looking from Sam to Carolyn as he put the drinks on the table.

Before Carolyn could answer, Buzz came back to the table. "Hey, baby. Did you miss me?" He gave Carolyn a squeeze.

"Passionately," she replied. He sat next to her. "I was just telling Barnabas about my new stepfather," she went on. "Do you know, Barnabas, Jason tried to bribe Buzz to stay away from me? He offered to buy him a new motorcycle."

Willie chuckled. "Yeah, that's Jason, all right."

"Did you take it?" Sam asked Buzz.

"No way," said Buzz. "What do I want with a new bike? I saved up forever for the one I've got - it's a classic. A 1952 Vincent Black Lightning," he said proudly. Best machine around."

Carolyn fidgeted restlessly. "Buzz, let's go to Logansport," she said suddenly.

"Sure, baby, whatever you say," said Buzz agreeably. He inclined his head at Sam and Willie. "You heard the kitten. We're history here."

"It was nice seeing you again, Carolyn," said Sam, standing up politely as Carolyn rose.

"You too, Barnabas," she said, distracted. Talking about Jason had upset her. She wanted to get away from Collinsport, quickly, and lose herself in a wild carefree evening with Buzz.

"Catch you later, cats," said Buzz.

"See ya," said Willie.

Carolyn and Buzz left. Sam and Willie sat back down. "Willie," Sam said thoughtfully, "I need to talk to you about Jason McGuire."

"About Jason?" Willie shrugged. "Okay. Shoot."

"Why is he marrying Mrs. Stoddard?"

Willie took a sip of beer. "Probably 'cause she's loaded. Why else?"

"Well, why is _she_ marrying _him_, then?" asked Sam. "Is she in love with him?"

Willie snorted. "With Jason? Nah, she hates him worse than she hates me." He sounded amused.

"So why is she marrying him?"

"Beats me." Willie drank some more beer, seeming to lose interest in the subject. He began to look casually around the room as if to see who else was there.

Sam got to the point. "Could he be blackmailing her?"

That got Willie's attention. He fidgeted. "How should I know?" He downed the rest of his beer, not looking at Sam.

"_Do_ you know, Willie?" asked Sam, watching him closely.

Willie didn't answer. He knew he couldn't lie to Barnabas...but Jason would _kill_ him if he revealed the secret. He didn't know what to do.

"Willie, listen to me," said Sam. Willie looked up. Sam continued, "I know Jason is your friend, and you don't want to get him in trouble. I admire your loyalty. But a women's entire life is at stake here. I know you're not like Jason - not anymore." Willie hesitated, torn by conflicting loyalties. Sam added, "Whatever you say will be confidential, just between you and me. Come on. Tell me," he said earnestly, looking into Willie's eyes.

Sam Beckett or no, the eyes holding Willie's gaze were those of a vampire. "All right," Willie sighed, giving in.

Sam blinked. For a moment, he had felt the oddest sensation - as though his mind had _touched_ Willie's. It was creepy. Sam resolved to be more careful in future. He didn't know what other tricks came with being a vampire.

"He _is_ blackmailin' her," Willie admitted. "I don't know what he's got on her - he would never tell me. Butit's a real big deal, whatever it is - something that would totally wreck the family if they found out, and ruin the Collins' reputation. That's why Mrs. Stoddard jumps when Jason snaps his fingers."

Sam was filled with pity for Elizabeth Stoddard, and disgust for Jason McGuire. He had to help Elizabeth. "I'm going to Collinwood," he said decisively. Willie looked alarmed. "Don't worry, I won't say anything about what you've told me," Sam reassured him. Anyway, I promised Julia I'd meet her there."

Willie was relieved. "You go ahead. I think I'll stay here awhile," he said.

"Will you be able to get back to the Old House if I take the car?" asked Sam.

"Sure. It ain't that far a walk," said Willie.

"Okay. I'll see you back at the Old House."

Sam drove to Collinwood, parked, and knocked at the door. Jason answered. "Well, now, Mr. Collins," he said, smiling broadly. "What a pleasant surprise. Do come in."

"Thanks," said Sam, entering.

Elizabeth came down the stairs. "Hello, Barnabas. Julia said you would e stopping by. She should be down in a minute."

"I'm afraid I was just on my way out, Mr. Collins," said Jason, putting on his coat. "So I won't be able to enjoy the pleasure of your company. But I'm sure Liz will extend you every hospitality." Whistling, he strolled out of the house.

There was a moment of silence. Then Elizabeth said politely, "Why don't we go into the drawing room? I'll have Mrs. Johnson bring in some tea."

They settled on the couch, teacups in hand. "How are the renovations on the house coming along?" asked Elizabeth.

"Fine," said Sam. "Sometimes I walk in, and for a minute I almost believe I'm in the 18th century."

"Vicki was very impressed," said Elizabeth. "It sounds lovely. You must be proud."

"Well, Willie did most of the work," Sam admitted.

Elizabeth shook her head. "I have to hand it to you, Barnabas. I wouldn't have thought it was possible to get him to do an honest day's work. You know he caused a lot of trouble when he first came here." She sipped her tea thoughtfully.

"I know," said Sam. "But he's different now. I think he just needed a chance to prove himself."

"Maybe you're right," said Elizabeth, not entirely convinced. She took another sip. "And how is your business going?"

Did Barnabas _have _any business? Sam wondered. "Okay," he said.

Elizabeth smiled. "'Okay?' I see we've corrupted you already, Barnabas."

"What do you mean?" asked Sam, puzzled.

"Oh, just the way you speak. When you first came here, you were so formal. Now, after such a short time, you sound just like an American."

"Do I?" said Sam uneasily.

Elizabeth laughed. "You don't have to look so concerned. It's wonderful that you've been able to assimilate so easily. But I hope you don't entirely lose that European charm," she added with a smile. "Well. What were we talking about? Oh, yes, business. Did you invest in that shipyard Roger told you about?"

"Uh, I'm looking into it," Sam improvised.

"Well, I'm glad to hear things are working out so well for you, Barnabas," she said warmly.

"Thanks," said Sam. "What about you? You must be excited, what with the wedding coming up so soon."

Elizabeth's smile faded. "Yes," she said quietly.

"When is it, exactly?" asked Sam, watching her closely.

Elizabeth put down her teacup. "Next week." She rose abruptly and began clearing up the tea tray.

Sam got up to help her. "You don't sound very enthusiastic," he said.

"I am. There are just so many things to do before then," said Elizabeth, not meeting his eyes.

At that moment, the housekeeper bustled in. "Oh, Mrs. Stoddard. You shouldn't be bothering with this. I'll clear up." She took the tray from Elizabeth.

"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson," said Elizabeth. Mrs. Johnson left. Elizabeth looked at her hands, not knowing what to do with them. There was an awkward silence.

Then Sam said, "I ran into Carolyn at the Blue Whale."

Elizabeth turned sharply, searching his eyes. "How was she? Was she with that...boy?" she asked anxiously.

"Buzz? Yes, he was there."

Elizabeth sat down. "Barnabas, I'm so worried about her. Why is she doing this?"

"She's upset about the wedding," said Sam.

Elizabeth sighed. "I know."

"But Carolyn loves you," Sam continued. "Once you're married, and she sees how happy you are as Mrs. Jason McGuire..." Elizabeth winced involuntarily. "I'm sure she'll come to her senses," Sam finished.

"Perhaps," said Elizabeth listlessly.

Sam tried to ease into the big question. "Carolyn doesn't want you to get married because she thinks _you _don't want to. She thinks Jason is forcing you into it."

Elizabeth looked away. "I know."

Sam hesitated. "Is he?"

She stood up abruptly. "No," said said firmly. "And I don't wish to discuss it further."

Sam touched her shoulder. "Elizabeth, I'm sorry," he said gently. "I don't want to upset you, and neither does Carolyn. We all love you, and we want you to be happy. If there's anything wrong, you shouldn't be afraid to tell someone. We'll all stand by you."

"Thank you," said Elizabeth. "But I'm fine. There's nothing wrong."

"Let me just ask you one question, and then I'll drop it," said Sam.

She sighed. "All right. What is it?"

"Do you love Jason?"

She looked out the window. "That's an absurd question."

"I don't think so," said Sam.

Elizabeth turned to face him. "Why not?"

"Because you didn't answer it," he said, looking into her eyes.

Elizabeth was silent a moment. Then she said, "I have the right to live my life as I see fit. Jason is the man I choose to marry, and I would appreciate it if you and the rest of the family would accept that."

There was a sound from the doorway. Sam looked up to see Jason McGuire stroll into the drawing room, clapping his hands. "Well, bravo, Liz," he said.

"What a spirited defense! I can't tell you how touched I am."

Elizabeth was shaken. "I thought you'd gone out."

"And it's a good thing for me I didn't," said Jason. "I _was_ on my way out, on a bit of business, when providentially I realized I'd left my hat in here. I came back to get it, and what do I hear but my very own name being mentioned."

"So you eavesdropped," said Sam.

Jason looked offended. "I _overheard_ aspersions being cast on my good character, if that's what you mean."

"Look, I don't want to cause any trouble," said Sam in a conciliatory tone. Elizabeth is my cousin, and I just wanted to make sure she's all right."

"Well, you need have no worries on that score. Liz is fine." Jason put his arm around Elizabeth's shoulder. "In fact, it was _her_ idea to get married in the first place. Wasn't it, dear?"

"Yes, it was," said Elizabeth, looking at the floor.

"There, you see? And now, Mr. Collins, if we've explained ourselves to your satisfaction, I think this might be a fitting time to end this little visit - or should I say, inquisition."

"Jason, please," said Elizabeth. "We were merely talking. Barnabas just came by to see Julia."

"Oh, it's Julia now, is it? Well, go right ahead, Mr. Collins. But please refrain from any further attempts to upset my dear bride-to-be," warned Jason. "Elizabeth hasn't had an easy time of it these past few years, you know. She deserves her chance at happiness. And I'll not have the most glorious day of her life ruined by the likes of you." He glared at Sam, squeezing Liz's shoulder protectively.

"I agree with you. I would hate to see Elizabeth's life ruined," said Sam, regarding Jason steadily. He turned to Elizabeth. Diplomacy seemed the quickest way out of the situation. "Elizabeth, please forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you."

Elizabeth looked wistful. "That's all right, Barnabas. I understand."

"I'd better go," said Sam. "Apologize to Julia for me, will you? Tell her I'll see her tomorrow."

"Barnabas, you don't have to leave," said Elizabeth in distress.

Jason cut in. "I think it's a very good idea. Come, Mr. Collins. I'll walk you out."

Outside, Jason quickly stepped in front of Sam as he was about to leave. "Just a moment, Mr. Collins. I'd like a word with you."

Sam sighed. "Look, I said I was sorry. Let's just drop it, okay?"

"In a moment." Jason eyed Sam appraisingly. "You know, Mr. Collins, ever since I came here I've gotten the feeling that you don't trust me. Now why do you suppose that is?"

Sam had had enough. "Because I don't," he said flatly.

Al's voice came suddenly from behind him. "Easy, Sam," said Al. Sam fought the reflex to turn around.

"Oh, you don't, do you?" Jason smiled. "Now why is that, hmmm? You've been talking to my old friend Willie, have you?"

"No," said Sam. "You just strike me as a man who has a lot of secrets." He looked challengingly at Jason.

"Sam, you don't want to start this," urged Al. Sam ignored him.

"Do I now?" said Jason in mock surprise. "Well, I must say I find that very amusing, coming from you. Very amusing indeed."

"What do you mean?" asked Sam.

Jason lit a cigarette and casually took a drag. "Only that you, too, seem to have a lot of secrets, Mr. Collins. Secrets you don't want anyone to find out."

Sam began to wish he'd taken Al's advice. "What kind of secrets?" he said uneasily.

"Well, now, let's see," mused Jason. "For a start, there's the man himself. The cousin from England who just showed up out of nowhere."

What about it?" said Sam.

"Only that it seems a little odd, seeing that Liz didn't even know she_ had_ a cousin," said Jason. "Then, of course, there's your business. What exactly is it that you do, Mr. Collins? That's something no one seems to know. You don't have an account at the Collinsport Bank, you don't work anywhere that anyone knows of...yet you obviously have a lot of money, and you go _somewhere_ during the day. _Every_ day, in fact." Jason studied Sam thoughtfully. "You know, Mr. Collins, I don't believe I've ever even _seen_ you during the day."

Al shook his head worriedly. "Sam, this is not looking good."

Jason suddenly became brisk and good-natured. "But, of course, what you do with your time is your concern," he said dismissively, dropping his cigarette and stubbing it out with his toe. He let his gaze linger on Sam. "Unless, of course, you try to interfere with my life. Then I might have to make it _my _concern." He smiled and touched his hat. "Good evening, Mr. Collins." He went to his car and drove off.

"Charming guy," commented Al sardonically.

"Yeah," said Sam worriedly. "What should I do, Al?"

"Well, one thing you _shouldn't_ do is mess with Mr. Shamrock there," said Al firmly. "He sounds like he knows way too much."

"Maybe he's bluffing," said Sam uneasily, turning toward the path to the Old House. Al fell into step beside him. "Anyway, I have to do _something_. I can't let him marry Elizabeth."

"Why not?" asked Al, pausing to light a cigar.

"Because I found out he's blackmailing her," explained Sam.

Al looked up in surprise. "Blackmailing _her?_ Miss Prim-and-Proper? What'd she do, use the wrong fork or something?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know, but it must be pretty serious." He sighed. Then something occurred to him, and he looked narrowly at Al. "Where have you been, anyway? I haven't seen you since early yesterday evening."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, Sam. I was just, you know, tied up," Al said evasively. "Research, stuff like that."

Sam looked skeptical. "What kind of research?"

Al looked sheepish. "Well, if you must know, Tina, she just bought this new waterbed, and she needed me to...try it out," he said vaguely. Sam folded his arms and looked at him in exasperation. Al said defensively, "Well, I had to make sure it was a good one. I mean, I don't want her having back problems or anything."

Sam shook his head. "Great. I'm here risking my neck and you're off fooling around with Tina."

Al looked injured. "You could do with a little fooling around yourself, if you don't mind my saying. Anyway, that wasn't _all_ I was doing. I also had a nice long talk with Barnabas Collins."

Sam perked up. "Really? What did he say?"

"He's not really such a bad guy," said Al thoughtfully. "I mean, he feels terrible about being a vampire - he just can't help it. He told me how it happened." Al shook his head. "Boy, Sam, you think _you've_ got problems."

"How did it happen?" Sam asked curiously.

"Well, when he was a young man, he went to Martinique on business. He met this girl there, named Angelique - and Sam, she was _really_ hot stuff," said Al, warming to his story. "Long golden curls, big blue eyes, and stacked like-" He broke off at a sharp look from Sam. Well, anyway, she had the hots for Barnabas. Kept trying to get into his pants." Al smiled wistfully. "Reminds me of a girl I knew in high school. Gloria, her name was." He sighed reminiscently.

Sam interrupted. "So what happened to Barnabas?"

Al came out of his reverie. "Right. Well, you can see how it was. Here's this young, shy, naive guy, away from home for the first time, on a beautiful tropical island: warm breezes, starry nights, the whole bit. And here's this totally gorgeous girl whose one desire in life is to make mad, passionate love to him. Who could resist that?" He shot a glance at Sam. "Don't answer that. Anyway, they had a fling. But then Barnabas fell in love with another girl, named Josette. And as far as Barnabas is concerned, Josette was 'it.' I mean, you gotta see the way his face lights up when he talks about her. He says they were soul mates and stuff like that. He felt bad about breaking it off with Angelique, but he had to. Problem was, Angelique refused to give him up. And what he didn't know was that she was a witch."

Sam admonished, "You shouldn't use words like that to describe women."

Al sighed in exasperation. "No, I mean she was a_ real_ witch. You know, 'eye of newt and toe of frog,' stuff like that."

Sam was about to say he didn't believe in witches, then thought of his own razor-sharp fangs and kept quiet. "Well, I can understand her being upset," he said, seeing both sides. "I mean, if she fell in love with him, and he had an affair with her, and then he jilted her."

"Upset, sure," agreed Al. "But this was more like 'Fatal Attraction.' She wanted revenge, so she started casting all these spells to make horrible things happen to the Collins family. First she made Josette run off with Barnabas' uncle, then she made his little sister get sick, and then she turned Barnabas into a vampire." He shuddered. "And I thought my ex-wives were bad. Alimony, I can handle."

"That's awful," Sam sympathized.

"And it didn't end there," Al went on. "When Barnabas' mom found out what he was, she killed herself. So did Josette. His dad was gonna stake Barnabas through the heart, but at the last minute he couldn't go through with it. So he locked him in his coffin instead, and he was trapped there for two hundred years."

Sam was horrified by the story. "I didn't realize he'd been through so much. It must have been very traumatic for him."

Yeah. Verbena says he's suffering from a combination guilt-and-persecution complex," said Al. "But I think it was good for him to talk about it. Once he opened up, he seemed relieved to get it off his chest."

"Maybe if Julia cures him, he'll make up for all the things he's done," suggested Sam.

"Yeah, maybe he'll join the Peace Corps," Al said dismissively. "Meanwhile, we've got that Jason McGuire to deal with. If he finds out about you, we're in big trouble."

"I know," worried Sam. I just wish I knew what he's using to threaten Elizabeth. It must be pretty bad. You said yourself she hasn't left the house in eighteen years. And now she's forcing herself to marry this creep because he's threatening to reveal her secret." He ran his hand through his hair. "What does Ziggy say about it?"

Al consulted the handlink. "Now that's strange."

"What is it?" asked Sam.

"When I first looked up Jason's criminal record, it said Jason left Collinsport a couple of weeks from now. There was no record of him after that. But now Ziggy says Jason does marry Elizabeth and take over Collinwood. Your being here must have changed history."

"Great," muttered Sam. "So now it's my fault she marries him. I have to stop him." He walked a few steps away, trying to think. It was difficult; he had a terrible headache, and there was a queasy feeling in his stomach. He put it down to all the stress of the Leap, and tried to concentrate on the problem at hand. "Maybe you could follow Jason around and figure out what he's got on her?"

"It's worth a try," agreed Al. "I'll get back to you if I find anything out." He disappeared, and Sam went back to the Old House.

o o o o o o o o

Al was getting impatient. He had followed Jason around for three hours and had not learned anything about the blackmail scheme. The Irishman had gone to the Blue Whale, where he'd noticed Willie at the bar and tried to pump him for information about Barnabas, but Willie wasn't talking, Al was relieved to see. Then he'd gone to work on Burke Devlin, buying the wealthy man drinks and trying to get on his good side. Then he'd made a number of cryptic phone calls from the bar's pay phone - he seemed to have shady deals going on all over the country. One call seemed to have something to do with a Swiss bank account. But there was nothing concrete that Al could use.

At around midnight, Jason came back to Collinwood. As he entered the house, Elizabeth came out of the drawing room.

"Why, Liz, were you waiting up for me?'' said Jason. He smiled. "Now, that's the kind of wifely devotion I like to see.''

Elizabeth was not amused. "Come into the drawing room. I want to talk to you.''

Jason inclined his head in assent. "Of course, my dear. You know I'd do anything for you. All you need do is ask.'' He followed her into the drawing room and closed the door. Al walked through it, listening eagerly.

Liz drew herself up and pronounced, "I've decided to cancel the wedding.''

Jason raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you have, have you?'' he said, his voice deceptively soft, with just a hint of menace. "And what brought this on, may I ask?''

Elizabeth turned away from him. "Carolyn,'' she said, with a slight tremor in her voice. "She's been spending more and more time with that hoodlum. She even says she'll marry him if I go through with this wedding.''

"Ah, she's just bluffing,'' scoffed Jason.

Elizabeth spun to face him. "Even if she is, it shows how upset she is,'' she said. "I _love_ my daughter, Jason, and I'm losing her because of you! I won't let you tear this family apart!''

"I see,'' said Jason in the same casual, dangerous tone. "You don't want to damage your relationship with your daughter. I admire that, I really do. But ask yourself this, Liz - what will Carolyn think of you if she learns that you murdered her father?''

Al dropped his cigar. "Murder?'' he squeaked. "Aww, Liz, how could you?''

Elizabeth winced. "Don't say that,'' she pleaded.

"And why not?'' demanded Jason. "You're very quick to blame _me_ for your problems, Liz, but you very conveniently forget _your_ part in this sordid little affair.''

"I haven't forgotten,'' said Elizabeth miserably, sitting down on the couch. "It's all I've thought about for eighteen years.''

"Well, you'd better think about it a wee bit more, then,'' threatened Jason, walking to the couch and glaring down at her. "Imagine how the scene looked that night when I came to the house: my poor friend Paul, lying dead on the floor, and you standing over him with a poker.''

"It was an accident,'' pleaded Elizabeth tearfully. "I never meant to kill him. He was stealing all the family jewels, Carolyn's inheritance, and I couldn't stop him, and I was at the end of my rope, I didn't know what to do. And finally I...I hit him, just once. I never thought it would kill him."

"A very convenient excuse, I'm sure,'' sneered Jason. The fact is, you _did_ kill him. And now you have to ask yourself which will upset Carolyn more: watching her mother marry a man she doesn't like, or watching her mother go to prison for murder?''

"Stop it!'' said Elizabeth, putting her hands over her ears.

"No, I won't stop it, Liz,'' Jason said sternly. "You need to be reminded of what you owe me. I disposed of the body for you, and I've kept your secret for eighteen years. If you want the truth to come out now - well, just say the word. But you'd better be prepared to lose your daughter's love forever - not to mention Roger, and David, and the sterling reputation of the Collins family.''

Elizabeth seemed to crumple into herself. "All right,'' she said finally, defeated. "All right, we'll get married.''

"Good. I knew you'd come to your senses.'' Jason patted her shoulder affectionately, seeming to recover his previous good mood. "And I hope this will be the last time you force me to bring up this unpleasant subject. I _do_ so hate to upset you, Liz.'' Whistling, he left the room and went upstairs. Alone, Elizabeth covered her face with her hands and began to cry hopelessly. Al couldn't help feeling sorry for her, even though he was shocked about the murder.

He returned to the present and began going through the records on Ziggy's database, looking to see if Stoddard's murder had ever become public knowledge. After a few hours, he came across a document that made him do a double-take. He stared at the screen in disbelief, then let out a low whistle. "I don't believe it!''

Quickly he called up other records, confirming the facts. Then he hurried back to the Imaging Chamber and zapped back to the Old House in 1967, bursting with the news. To his disappointment, it was already morning. Sam was asleep in his coffin. Al resigned himself to waiting a day to deliver his news. He sighed impatiently. Waiting had never been his strong point. He decided to go back to the present and see if Tina was busy.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's note: Thanks so muchto Masked Kitten and ZeusFluff for the reviews! I'm glad you like the story!_

Al was tapping his toe impatiently when Sam opened the coffin lid. Finally," he grumbled. "I didn't think you'd _ever_ wake up. Sam, you're not gonna believe this!"

Sam jumped up from the coffin. "What? What is it?"

"Jason's blackmailing Elizabeth for murdering her husband eighteen years ago," Al began.

Sam went pale. "Murder?" He paced the room worriedly. "Al, what can I do? I don't want to let Jason keep blackmailing her, but I don't want to help a murderer either."

Al shook his head impatiently. "That's just it. She's _not_ a murderer. Paul Stoddard is alive and well and living in San Francisco."

Sam looked up sharply. "But you said-"

"Jason tricked her," Al explained. "Paul was abandoning the family and stealing all the family jewels to take with him. She tried to stop him, and they got into a fight, and she hit him over the head. Jason was there, and he told her Paul was dead, but it wasn't true - he was just unconscious. She wanted to go to the police, but Jason convinced her to keep quiet for Carolyn's sake. He told her he'd get rid of the body and no one would ever know. She agreed, but she felt so guilty about it that she hasn't left the house since."

"So she's spent all these years feeling guilty about a murder that never happened," Sam said slowly. "I've got to help her, Al. What should I do?"

"Go to her and tell her the truth," Al suggested.

Sam shook his head. "She needs to know the truth...but I don't think Barnabas should be the one to tell her. All these years she's been hiding this secret, terrified someone might find out. I'd like her to learn the truth without feeling that everybody knows about it." It was a tough problem. Sam thought for a while. Al, I have an idea," he said suddenly. "I think _Paul_ should be the one to tell her."

"Paul Stoddard?" asked Al skeptically. "He ran out on her. Why should he care?"

"All she needs to know is that Paul's alive," Sam pointed out. "And he has a right to know what Jason's doing. Give me his number."

Al shrugged. "If that's what you want," he said doubtfully. "But I don't think it'll work."

Sam drove into Collinsport, cursing Barnabas' lack of a phone, and dialed Paul Stoddard's number from a phone booth. He had no idea what he would say, but he felt instinctively that this was the right thing to do.

The phone rang once, twice. Finally someone picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?" said a middle-aged man's voice.

"Hello, is this Paul Stoddard?" asked Sam.

"Who wants to know?" the man asked suspiciously.

"Mr. Stoddard - well, I hope it's you," Sam fumbled, trying to sound friendly. "You don't know me. My name is-" He hesitated. He didn't want to get Barnabas mixed up in this. "My name is Sam Beckett, and-"

"You're right. I don't know you. Goodbye, Mr. Beckett."

"No, don't hang up!" Sam said hastily. "I'm calling from Collinsport, Maine, about your wife and daughter!"

Paul Stoddard, about to hang up the phone, froze at the sound of those words. He stared at the receiver as though it might bite him. Slowly he brought the receiver back to his ear.

"Mr. Beckett...are you still there?"he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, I'm here," said Sam in relief.

"I'm sorry," Paul said. "There are just some...people I'd rather not hear from right now. I thought you were one of them."

"That's okay," Sam reassured him, hearing a genuine apology in the man's tone.

Paul thought of Sam's earlier words. In sudden panic, he asked, "What's happened to Elizabeth and Carolyn?"

"Physically, they're both fine. But they do need your help." Sam hesitated. "I know you've been gone for a while..." he said awkwardly.

"I have. But I think about my family every day," Paul interrupted defensively. He stopped and took a deep breath. This wasn't Beckett's fault, he reminded himself. "I'm not proud of my past, Mr. Beckett," he said quietly. "I always thought it best if I stayed away, after what happened." He thought of his recent sleepless nights, the way his thoughts had turned more and more to his family of late, especially his daughter. The daughter he hadn't seen since she was a baby - the daughter who was a grown woman now. So many wasted years... But he didn't say this out loud.

Sam was encouraged by Paul's obvious concern. "You can help them now, Mr. Stoddard,"he urged.

"Tell me, Mr. Beckett. How?" Paul asked anxiously. He didn't know why, but for some reason he decided to trust this stranger.

"I'm sure you remember what happened 18 years ago," Sam began. "Your wife, Elizabeth, struck you on the head with a poker. She was trying to stop you from stealing the family jewels."

"How do you...Yes, that's right," admitted Paul.

"Your friend Jason McGuire offered to clear things up," Sam continued. "You left the house, and Jason met up with you later on. He brought a lot of money with him. The two of you split the money, and you took off."

"Yes," Paul said. "I know."

"What you probably _don't _know is that after you left Collinwood, Jason told Elizabeth that you were dead, that she had killed you with that poker."

Paul was thunderstruck. "Dear God," he breathed.

Sam knew he had just dropped a bombshell and that he was about to drop another. He wanted to be gentle, but he had to get across how urgent it was that Paul act immediately. "Jason convinced Elizabeth not to go to the police for Carolyn's sake," he explained. "Jason told her he'd bury your body and no one would ever know about the murder. And all these years, Elizabeth's been living with that guilt. It's eaten her up inside. She hasn't even left the house in 18 years."

"I...I had no idea," Paul whispered. His mind raced in a million directions. He was filled with sadness, anger, guilt. "I have to tell her," he stammered. Then anger won out. "And just wait till I get my hands on McGuire! Oh, there'll be a body to bury, all right!"

"Hold on, Mr. Stoddard," Sam said quickly. "Violence isn't going to help your wife and daughter get their lives back together."

Paul tried to calm down. "All right, Mr. Beckett. Then what DO you suggest?"

"I have a plan," Sam said. "But first I have to finish the story."

"There's more?" How much worse could it get? Paul wondered.

"I'm afraid so," said Sam. "Recently Jason came back to town and started blackmailing Elizabeth. He's forcing her to marry him by threatening to expose the fact that she murdered you."

Paul Stoddard clenched his fists and drew a deep breath, trying to keep his anger in check. After a moment, he spoke. "You said you had a plan, Mr. Beckett. I'm damn well ready to hear it now."

Sam smiled inwardly. He knew that whatever events lay 18 years in the past, Paul Stoddard cared about Elizabeth and Carolyn, and he would do whatever was necessary to help them.

o o o o o o o o

"Did it work?" Al asked when Sam came out of the phone booth.

"I think so," Sam said triumphantly. Go to Collinwood and let me know what happens."

Al rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss this for anything! It's better than a soap opera." He zapped himself to the drawing room at Collinwood.

Jason was sitting on the sofa, drinking coffee. Elizabeth was at her desk, going over the accounts for the Collinsport cannery, and Carolyn stood idly looking out the window, waiting for Buzz to arrive.

The phone rang. "Would you answer that, Carolyn?" asked Liz, not looking up from her work.

Carolyn let out an exasperated teenage sigh and flounced over to the phone. "Collins residence...Yes, this is Carolyn Stoddard. Who is this, please?" She listened, then gasped. The receiver dropped from her fingers.

Elizabeth looked up in concern. "What's wrong, darling?"

"It's...it's my father," said Carolyn in a dazed voice.

Jason sputtered and choked on his coffee. Elizabeth went white. "It...it can't be. It must be a prank." She went to the phone and picked up the dangling receiver. "Who is this?" she said sternly. At the sound of the voice on the other end, her knees gave way and she had to clutch the table for support. "Paul?" she said shakily. She took a deep breath. "If...if you're really Paul Stoddard, tell me how we first met." She listened, her eyes widening, as Stoddard related events only he could know. "It-it really _is_ you," she said, stunned.

Carolyn had recovered and was bouncing up and down with excitement. "I can't believe it! Mother, what's he saying? Where is he? Is he coming here? Oh, I always _knew_ he'd come back someday!"

Elizabeth ignored her. "Paul," she said, her voice trembling. "I have to know - what really happened the night you left?"

While Paul related the true events of that fateful night, Jason was quietly sidling toward the front door, a look of alarm on his face. Elizabeth suddenly noticed what he was doing. "Just a moment Paul," she said, glancing at Jason. There's an old friend of yours here who I'm sure you'll want to talk to - Jason McGuire." Challengingly, she held the phone out to him.

Trapped, Jason took the receiver. "Paul!" he said with forced joviality. "How have you been, laddie?" He winced and held the phone away from his ear as a stream of invective poured out. "All right, Paul, now take it easy," he said soothingly. "I just thought your Liz might be needin' a bit of company, seein' as how you haven't been home in eighteen years. I wanted to show her a bit of fun, that's all it was."

"Fun?" exploded Liz. "Is that what you call it? I've had enough fun' from you to last a lifetime, Jason. Now put down the phone and get out of this house before I call the police."

Jason cleared his throat, trying to preserve some dignity. "Paul, your lovely wife is wantin' me to get off the line. We'll talk later, eh?"

Carolyn was torn between the dramatic scene being played out in front of her by Jason and Elizabeth, and fascination about the father she had never met. The latter won. "Let me talk to him," she said, taking the phone from Jason.

While Carolyn talked on the phone, Elizabeth marched to the front door and opened it. "I mean it, Jason. If you ever show your face in Collinsport again, I'll have you arrested."

Jason held up a hand placatingly. "Now, Liz, you wouldn't do that. Think of the scandal."

"I _am_ thinking of it. That's why I haven't called the police yet. But I'm thoroughly fed up with you, and if it takes a scandal to get rid of you, I'll be only too happy to provide one."

"She's got you there," Al said happily. "Better hit the road, Jack!"

Jason saw he'd lost and gave in, though not gracefully. "Let me at least pack my things."

"Fine. You have exactly 10 minutes," said Elizabeth firmly.

As Jason went upstairs, Roger came down. "What is all this commotion?"

"Mr. McGuire is leaving," Liz informed him.

Roger beamed. "Really? I can scarcely believe my ears. What brought on this sudden miracle?"

Carolyn came running into the foyer. "Uncle Roger, you'll never believe it! My father just called!"

"Nonsense," said Roger, startled. "Why would he call now, after eighteen years?"

"He did, Roger," said Elizabeth quietly.

"Mother, he wants to come to Collinsport for a visit," said Carolyn eagerly. "He's sorry about everything that's happened. Say yes, Mother! I want to meet him."

"We'll see, darling," said Elizabeth, patting her hand.

Carolyn hugged her. "I'm so glad you told Jason to leave! Oh, that reminds me. I have to call Buzz and cancel our date." She gave her mother a sheepish smile.

Al happily zapped back to the Old House and told Sam what had transpired. Sam wasn't completely satisfied. "That's great, Al, but why didn't Elizabeth have Jason arrested?"

"She wanted to avoid publicity," Al explained.

Sam shook his head. "I don't like the idea of him getting off scot-free."

At that moment, there was a knock at the front door. Sam exchanged a look with Al and went to open it. To his surprise, Jason McGuire stood on the doorstep.

Jason looked surprised to see Sam. "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Collins. I was just lookin' for my friend Willie. I'd like a word with him."

"He's not here," said Sam. "And even if he were, you don't have time to talk to him. From what I hear, you're leaving town."

Jason's eyes narrowed. "News travels fast, I see."

"Yes, it does," said Sam. "Now I think it would be best for everyone if you would leave. I think you've just about worn out your welcome in Collinsport."

"I see," said Jason steadily. "But you never know - I may be back someday. I may even have some unfinished business to take care of with _you,_ Mr. Collins."

"Oh, I doubt that," said Sam, holding his gaze.

Al was consulting his handlink. "Sam," he said suddenly, "mention the name Tony Gambino' to him."

Sam kept his eyes on Jason. "But you _do _have unfinished business with _other_ people," he said casually. "People like Tony Gambino, perhaps."

Jason went pale. "What do you mean?"

"I think you know," Sam said evenly. Even though _I_ don't, he added to himself.

"Now...now, Mr. Collins, let's not be hasty," Jason said nervously.

"Are you leaving town?" Sam demanded.

Jason backed away. "Of course. I'm leaving right now. And I won't be back." He fled the house.

Sam turned to Al. "Who's Tony Gambino?"

Al grinned. A mobster who's still trying to figure out who double-crossed him a few years back." He looked at the handlink again. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about Jason anymore. After this, he goes to Washington and gets involved in a real estate scam. But he gets caught, and it turns out some of the people he swindled are prominent politicians, and the case gets a lot of publicity. And when Jason's name and picture hit the papers, dozens of people around the country come forward to testify how he flim-flammed them over the years. He ends up getting 18 years in prison."

"The same amount of time Elizabeth was imprisoned in her house," Sam said, thoughtfully. "Well, that's good." He was relieved that justice would be served.

Al punched up the door that took him back to his own time. "Well, Sam, looks like this adventure is about wrapped up. Jason's gone, Barnabas is almost cured...you should be saying Sayonara' to Collinsport any time now." He pressed a button, and he and the door disappeared.

o o o o o o o o o o o

Sam stretched out on the sofa, wishing the queasy feeling in his stomach would go away. It seemed to be getting worse. Maybe it was his body's reaction to changing back into a human, he theorized. He'd have to ask Julia.

Aside from that, though, he was pretty pleased with how everything was turning out. Al was right; he should be Leaping very soon. Barnabas would be cured within a day or two. That reminded Sam that he had to take care of Willie before he Leaped. He decided that when Willie came home tonight, he would give him some money so he could leave Collinsport. That way, Willie would be safely gone when Barnabas came back; and since Barnabas would be human, he wouldn't have any way of getting Willie back.

Pleased with this idea, Sam began to wonder what his next Leap would be. Maybe this time, he'd get back to his own time at last...

His reverie was interrupted when the front door banged. Willie ran into the living room, clearly agitated. "Barnabas, we got problems."

"What's wrong?" Sam asked in concern, sitting up.

"Maggie Evans is startin' to get her memory back," said Willie anxiously. "I heard Sheriff Patterson an' Sam Evans talkin' about it at the Blue Whale. If she remembers what happened to her-"

"She'll remember that Barnabas Collins is the kidnapper," Sam finished worriedly, forgetting to use the first person pronoun.

"What're ya gonna do about it?" Willie asked nervously.

Sam opened his mouth, about to say there wasn't much he _could_ do about it, but suddenly, without warning, a strange feeling came over him. He doubled over in nausea, sweat beading on his forehead. With a rush of panic, he felt the vampire energy returning, threatening to overwhelm him, his hard-won humanity slipping away. Sam gasped as he felt the fangs pushing forward out of his gums.

The thirst was suddenly upon him, more urgent and terrible than it had ever been. He had to have blood, _right_ _now-_

"Barnabas, what's wrong?" Willie was kneeling on the floor next to him, touching his shoulder.

Sam looked up and was acutely aware of the vein pulsing in Willie's throat. He felt his lips pull back from his fangs. Blood, sweet blood...

"NO!" Sam shoved Willie away from him with all his vampire strength. The young man crashed against the wall and slipped to the floor, stunned. When he climbed to his feet, the fear in his eyes mirrored Sam's own.

"Get Julia," Sam hissed between clenched teeth. "Get Julia now!"

Willie ran out of the house. Sam crawled to the kitchen. He tore open the icebox - yes, they were still there, the bottles of blood substitute he'd created weeks earlier. He hadn't needed them since that first injection. Now he tore them open and guzzled every drop. It took five bottles, but eventually the madness receded enough that he thought he could see Julia without attacking her immediately.

The thirst was still there, however, and he knew he couldn't control it for long. What had gone wrong?

Sam hurried downstairs and began anxiously scanning Julia's notes. All the formulas seemed to be correct. He tried to control the fear that was rising within him. If he couldn't figure out what was wrong, and fast, they were all in danger.


	8. Chapter 8

"This shouldn't have happened," fretted Julia as she pulled on her coat. "The experiment was going so well. I can't imagine what could have gone wrong."

"Well, _something_ did," said Willie frantically, following her out the front door of Collinwood. "You shoulda seen him, Julia. He was all pale, like he used to be, and he bared his fangs at me, and his eyes..." He shuddered. "I thought he was gonna bite me, I really did."

"Well, don't worry," said Julia as they approached the Old House. "I'll find out what's wrong, one way or another." She headed determinedly to the front door. Willie started to follow, but she motioned him back. "You stay here. I can deal with him better alone."

"But it's dangerous," protested Willie.

"I have a cross. Don't worry." She went inside.

Willie stood outside in the moonlight, his spirits sinking. It was no use. They wouldn't be able to cure Barnabas. It was a crazy idea from the beginning. Now he'd go back to the way he was before, cruel and terrifying... Willie shivered.

Suddenly he remembered Maggie. He had told Barnabas that Maggie was starting to get her memory back, and could expose him. If Barnabas was as ruthless as he used to be, he might kill her to keep her quiet.

She was in danger, and it was Willie's fault. He began to pace anxiously. He had to do something about it, he just _had_ to. But what could he do?

He stopped. He could warn her, he thought. Not tell her about Barnabas, of course, but just tell her she was in danger and should leave town. He'd have to do it quietly, and pray that Barnabas didn't find out. If he ever did... Willie was too scared to dwell on that thought. But he owed this to Maggie; he had to help her. With sudden resolve, he headed for his car.

o o o o o o o o o o o o

Sam forced himself to calm down enough to analyze Julia's notes. Everything seemed to be in order. Her injections combined various chemicals used to treat anemia, leukemia, porphyria, and cancer. The combination had worked...until now.

Sam studied the pages, and found his eye drawn to one chemical name: Amethopterin. Something about it, something he'd forgotten...He cursed his Swiss cheese memory, struggling to remember.

He heard the front door slam and Julia's anxious voice. "Barnabas, Barnabas, where are you?" At that moment, a puzzle piece clicked into place. He suddenly had the answer.

Excited, he took the steps two at a time."Julia, I've figured it out!"

"Calm down, Barnabas," she said slowly and soothingly, as though calming a wild animal."I know you're feeling very upset right now, but I'm going to stop by the hospital and get some whole blood, and give you a transfusion, and then you'll feel better, I promise."

"There's no time for that," Sam said urgently. He grabbed her shoulders. "Listen to me, Julia. One of the chemicals you've been giving me is amethopterin."

"Why, yes," she said, surprised. "It's used to treat leukemia."

I know," Sam said. But sometimes patients develop a tolerance for it. It stops being effective after they've had a few doses. That must have been what happened to me. The doses probably stopped working a day or two ago, but it took a little while for me to revert back drastically."

"Oh, dear," said Julia. "Barnabas, if that's the case, I don't know what can be done about it."

Sam shook his head impatiently. "We can substitute 6-mercaptopurine. That will have the same effect. And if, after a few doses, that starts to become ineffective, then we can go back to the amethopterin - by that time the tolerance will have worn off. As long as we rotate the two, it'll work."

Julia was staring at him. "How on earth did you think of that? I've never heard of that course of treatment...but Barnabas, I believe you're right! It _should_ work!" She continued staring at him in disbelief.

"We have to hurry, Julia. I'll come with you to the hospital, and you can get some 6-mercaptopurine and make up an injection."

"All right, Barnabas." They hurried out of the house.

o o o o o o o o o o o o

The hypodermic slid into Sam's arm. Sam took a few deep breaths. He felt his racing heartbeat return to normal, his fangs retract. He held onto the chair to steady himself, feeling self-control return. "That was close," he said worriedly.

Julia shone a light into his eyes, examining them. She checked out his teeth, and took his pulse. "It's not too bad," she said. "We've lost some ground, but not much. Now that we know how to keep the injections effective, you'll progress much more quickly. Another three days at most, and you'll be fully human."

"Thank goodness," said Sam, deeply relieved.

"Now that you're out of danger, I want to know how you figured out what was wrong and what to do about it," insisted Julia. "You have no medical training."

Sam improvised quickly. "Well...ever since we began the experiment, I've been studying your medical journals," he said, trying to sound convincing. "I remembered seeing a footnote in an article a while back that mentioned that a doctor in, uh, Venezuela was experimenting with treating leukemia patients with rotating doses of two drugs, to avoid the potential problem of patients developing a tolerance to one or the other."

"I see," said Julia.

Sam quickly changed the subject. "What time is it? It must be getting close to dawn by now. I should be getting home."

Julia looked at her watch. "It's 3:00. Give me a minute to pack up my medical supplies - I don't want to leave any trace of your case here at the hospital. Then I'll drive you back to the Old House."

"Okay. I'll wait for you outside." Sam went outside as Julia busied herself putting things away.

He breathed in the cold night air, feeling refreshed and glad the crisis had been averted.

Suddenly Al's voice came frantically from behind him. "Sam, you've got to get to Maggie Evans' house right now!"

Sam jumped. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" he said testily. "What do you want? It's 3:00 in the morning."

"If you don't get to Maggie's house in exactly five minutes and 30 seconds, Willie's gonna get shot!"

Sam stared at him. "Shot? Why?"

"Sam, there's no _time!_ Hurry up!" urged Al. "I'll go there now and keep an eye on him." He vanished.

Julia came out of the hospital. Sam ran up to her. "Julia, I need to borrow your car. It's an emergency."

"What's happened?" she asked in concern.

"There's no time to explain now," he said urgently.

Julia pursed her lips. "All right. But I'll drive. You can explain to me on the way."

They got into her car, and Julia backed out of the hospital parking lot and eased onto the street. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Maggie Evans' house," said Sam.

Julia slammed on the brakes so hard that Sam lurched forward. "Maggie Evans' house?" she repeated incredulously. "Barnabas, you have no business going there after what you did to that girl. I won't let you near her."

"I don't _need_ to go near her," said Sam hurriedly. "It's Willie. He's gone there and I have to stop him before something terrible happens to him. Please, hurry."

Julia looked skeptical, but grudgingly started the car again. "Why is Willie at Maggie's house?" she asked, turning onto the road that led to the cottage by the sea.

"I don't know," said Sam truthfully. He tried to think. "He said something earlier about Maggie getting her memory back - maybe that has something to do with it."

Julia shook her head. "That's nonsense," she said decisively. "Maggie isn't getting her memory back. I saw to that."

Sam blinked in surprise. "_You_ did?"

"Certainly," said Julia mildly, her eyes on the road. "I've been secretly hypnotizing her to make sure her memories of the kidnapping stay buried. In fact, I just saw her yesterday. So you see, there's nothing for you or Willie to be concerned about."

Sam stared at her, shocked. "You're forcing her to repress memories? But that could be harmful to her." He was appalled by her breach of ethics. "You're her _doctor._ How could you do that?"

She glanced at him sideways. "Would you prefer she expose you? You'd have a mob of enraged townspeople with stakes at your door within five minutes. Is that what you want?"

"Well, I...I don't know," said Sam in confusion. "It just doesn't seem right."

"Believe me, Maggie is fine," said Julia. "I have the situation under complete control."

They arrived at the Evans cottage. "Park by the bushes so we won't be seen," said Sam. "I need to check out what's going on."

They got out of the car. Al was waiting. "What took you so long?" he asked in exasperation.

"Where's Willie?" said Sam, looking around.

Julia was surprised. "Don't you know? You're the one who said he was here." Sam ignored her.

Al pointed. "He's over there, by those trees."

Sam saw him. And sharpening his supernatural senses, he became aware of numerous other forms hidden among the trees and bushes around the house. "What's going on?" he whispered.

"They're cops," explained Al. "The sheriff spread a false rumor that Maggie was getting her memory back, to draw out the kidnapper. Anyone who goes near that house is gonna get shot full of holes."

Sam turned to Julia. "I think you're right - Maggie isn't getting her memory back at all. There are about a dozen police officers hidden in those trees. I think it was all a trap to catch the kidnapper."

"What are you planning to do?" asked Julia, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm just going to get Willie out of there," said Sam. "Wait here."

He slipped away silently. Willie was still standing by the tree, watching the house. He seemed to be trying to get up his nerve. Sam crept up behind him and touched his shoulder.

Willie almost jumped out of his skin. He spun around. "Barnabas!" he squeaked.

"Shhh," Sam hissed. "Listen to me. You're in danger here. We have to get away quietly." He put a hand on Willie's arm. The young man tensed and for a fleeting moment, thought of trying to break free. But he knew Barnabas' power too well. Resigned, he followed Sam.

Slowly, keeping to the shadows, Sam led Willie back to Julia's car.

"Did anyone see you?" asked Julia.

"No, it's all right," said Sam, letting out his breath. "We can go back to Collinwood now."

Julia opened her car door. "Aren't you getting in?" she asked when Sam didn't move.

"No, we'll go back in our car," said Sam. "I need to talk to Willie." Willie swallowed nervously but didn't say anything.

"All right," said Julia. "I'll see you back at Collinwood." She got in her car, but waited until she saw the other car leave before she turned her key in the ignition.

Sam and Willie got in the front seat; Al hovered in the back. Sam started the car and pulled out onto the road. He breathed a sigh of relief as Maggie's house faded into the distance. "That was close." He looked at Willie and explained, "You were walking into a trap."

" A trap?" Willie was confused.

"The sheriff had policemen hidden all around the house to guard Maggie," Sam told him. "If you'd gone near the house, they would have shot you."

"_And_ sent you to the loony bin," added Al, consulting his handlink.

"Shot me?" Willie said weakly. He had not expected this.

Sam nodded. "I'm just glad I was able to get you out of there in time."

Willie shot a glance at him, surprised by the concern in his voice. Barnabas didn't seem mad at him at all. Willie studied him surreptitiously. He didn't look ghostly pale anymore, but it was hard to tell in the darkness.

"But Willie, why did you want to go there in the middle of the night?" Sam asked.

Willie looked down and didn't answer.

"Was it because you thought Maggie was getting her memory back?" Sam pressed.

Willie hesitated. "Yeah," he admitted finally.

Sam sighed and shook his head. "I appreciate your wanting to protect me, but I don't see what you could have done to help." A thought occurred to him, and he looked sharply at the young man. "You weren't going there to...harm her, were you?"

"Me?" Willie was indignant. "I'd _never_ harm Maggie. You know that."

"Then what...?" Realization dawned. "You thought_ I_ was going to harm her? You went there to protect her from _me?"_

Willie looked up in surprise at his tone. Barnabas actually sounded _hurt_ at the idea.

The young man shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Well, no, not really," he lied. "It's just that...well... you were actin' so scary before. Like...like the way you used to be," he said, stealing a glance at Sam. "I just thought I oughta look out for her, ya know? Just to be on the safe side."

"Oh," said Sam, remembering what had happened in the house earlier. "Listen, I'm sorry if I scared you before. I didn't mean to. Something went wrong with the experiment. I suddenly felt like...like I had to have blood right away." He shuddered. "It was terrible. I never want to feel that way again."

Willie looked at him curiously. Sam's eyes were filled with remembered horror. "Is it that bad, bein' a vampire?" Willie asked.

"I wouldn't wish it on anyone," said Sam fervently. He shook his head as though to erase the feeling. "Anyway, I didn't want you to get too close to me when I was like that. That's why I pushed you away."

"Oh," said Willie, digesting this. He looked up into Sam's eyes. "So it didn't work, huh?" he said quietly. "You're back to bein' what you were?"

"No, no," Sam said hastily. "It turned out to be just a little problem. We made one change in the formula, and now it's fine. In fact, Julia says I'll be completely cured in three days."

"Really?" Willie's eyes widened. It's really gonna happen? You're gonna be normal?"

Yes." They reached the Old House. Sam parked the car and turned to Willie. "And since I _am_ going to be normal, I won't need anyone to guard me during the day. So you don't have to stay here anymore. You're free to leave."

"Leave?" Willie was stunned. "You're...you're lettin' me go?"

"Yes." Sam smiled at him. "In fact, when we get in the house I'll give you some money to get you started. That way you can leave in the morning." He turned off the car, got out, and went into the house.

Willie followed, looking dazed. Sam took some bills out of a drawer and handed them to him.

"But you're not cured yet," Willie pointed out. "Shouldn't I stay till it's all done?"

No," said Sam quickly. He wanted Willie safely gone before Barnabas came back. He patted Willie's shoulder. "You've done so much for me already - more than I can ever repay you for. You deserve to have a life of your own. You can go far away from here, get an education - there's a whole world out there. But you should definitely leave tomorrow morning."

"Okay," said Willie, confused. "If that's what you want. An'...an' thanks." He went upstairs.

Sam was very pleased with himself as he went down to the basement. Al followed, looking puzzled. "Why did you insist he leave tomorrow morning?"

"Don't you see?" said Sam, grinning. "The cure will be complete in a few days. If Barnabas Leaps back, and Willie's already long gone, Barnabas won't be able to do anything about it."

"Hey, Sam, that's pretty smart," said Al admiringly.

Sam smiled modestly. "I have my moments." He opened the coffin and hopped in cheerfully. "Night, Al." He closed the lid.

"Night, Sam." Al punched a key on his control pad and vanished.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Willie lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't understand what he was feeling. A month ago he would have been overjoyed if Barnabas had released him. But now...

He turned on his side, drawing his knees up to his chest. Barnabas had saved his life tonight. He couldve let Willie walk into the trap at Maggie's house and get shot, but he didn't. He'd saved Willie.

And then he'd let him go.

Willie sighed. Ever since he'd opened the coffin, he'd dreamed of escaping from Barnabas. But Barnabas was different now. And soon he would be human, and there would be no more nightly attacks, no more supernatural terror...just a human being who regretted his past and wanted to make up for it. Just as Willie did.

Restless, Willie rolled onto his back again. The Old House had been his home for several months now - the longest he'd stayed in one place since he'd left home as a teenager. He thought about going on the road again, drifting from town to town, without roots. No Jason this time; no con games or petty thefts. How would he live? he wondered. Barnabas' idea that he could get an education was laughable; he'd never been one for book learning. He supposed he could be a carpenter, or an upholsterer; he knew enough about it, having fixed up the Old House. Or maybe he'd go back to sea. That seemed fitting, somehow. He imagined a ship, floating alone on an endless ocean, forever drifting from port to port, without a home.

Finally he fell asleep.

o o o o o o o o o o o o

When Sam climbed out of the coffin the next evening, Julia was already there, preparing his injection. Willie was nowhere in sight. Sam was glad. He pictured the young man driving on a highway somewhere, headed to a new life.

Julia held up the hypodermic needle. "Well, Barnabas, just two or three more of these and you'll be human. How do you feel?"

"Great," said Sam, rolling up his sleeve. Julia dabbed alcohol on his arm.

Then Sam's eyes widened in surprise. Willie was coming down the stairs to the basement. Sam was about to ask why he was still here, when two things happened simultaneously: Julia injected the medication into his arm, and Sam Leaped.

o o o o o o o o o o o o

Barnabas blinked, feeling totally disoriented. Just a moment ago he had been...where had he been? He grabbed for the memory, but it was slipping away from him.

He looked around in confusion. He was in his basement in the Old House, and that historian, Miss Hoffman, was standing over him, taking his pulse. "Barnabas, this is incredible!" she was saying. "We don't need those two extra injections after all. You're completely human!"

"What?" Barnabas' head was spinning. "Miss Hoffman, what are you talking about?"

Julia raised an eyebrow. _"Miss_ Hoffman? You haven't called me that in weeks - not since we started the experiment."

"Experiment?" echoed Barnabas blankly.

Willie touched Julia's shoulder. "What's wrong with him?" he asked anxiously.

Julia shook him off. "Barnabas, tell me what you remember."

He looked up at her. "You're a historian, researching the Collins family."

Julia frowned. "The shock of the transformation must have caused a temporary loss of memory," she theorized. "I'm sure everything will come back to you soon."

"Julia's been tryin to cure ya," Willie told him.

"Cure me..." Something stirred in Barnabas' mind. _A white room...and someone saying "Julia is a doctor. She's trying to cure you, to make you human_ _again."_

"I...I do seem to remember something now," he said hesitantly. You're really a doctor, not a historian. You were trying to make me human." Julia and Willie both looked relieved.

"That's right," said Julia encouragingly. "And I succeeded. You've been cured."

Barnabas stood up. "Willie, I need to speak to you in private. Excuse us...doctor." They walked to a secluded corner of the room while Julia cleaned up the equipment.

"Willie," Barnabas whispered urgently, "my memory isn't what it should be. What has happened here? Can this woman be trusted with my secret?"

"Sure, Barnabas," said Willie, surprised. "You been workin' with her for weeks on this. Don't you remember? And it worked - you're really human again."

"Human..." Barnabas could hardly believe it. Experimentally he touched his tongue to his upper teeth. No fangs. His skin felt alive and warm for the first time in centuries. Slowly he smiled...a smile of joy and wonder. "Human..." Slowly he walked over to a chair and sat down, marvelling at the idea.

Willie walked over to where he was sitting. "Listen, Barnabas, I gotta talk to you," he was saying.

"Hmm?" Barnabas had been imagining all the wonderful implications of this miracle. With an effort, he turned his attention to his servant. "Yes? What is it?"

Willie dug his hands into his pockets, looking down at the ground. "Well, I been thinking about what you said - how I should leave, and start a new life, and all."

Barnabas stared at him. Had he really said that? It didn't seem possible. But...if he _had_ said it, he would have to stick to it. He was a Collins, and a man of his word. Too, he was gradually beginning to realize that his mental control over Willie was gone. The psychic link between them had been broken when he was cured. With a start, he realized that if Willie walked out, he no longer had the power to call him back.

Barnabas felt a flash of panic. Ever since he had been released from his coffin, Willie had been the only one who knew the truth about him, the only person he could depend on in this strange and unfamiliar century. Now he was about to start another new, unknown life, and Willie was leaving. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"Anyway, I really appreciate what you said and all," Willie was saying. He looked down into Barnabas' eyes. "But the thing is, I really don't have anywhere special to go. I got no friends, no family. And I'm thinking, bein' human's gotta be a big change for you. You're gonna need help adjustin' to it. And the house still needs lookin' after." He took a deep breath. "So what I'm sayin' is, I'd just as soon stay here. If it's okay with you."

Barnabas stared at him in amazement. "I told you that you could leave, and you want to stay?"

"Yeah," said Willie, scanning his face.

Barnabas couldn't believe it. After all he had done to the man... But Willie's clear eyes held no bitterness or resentment, just sincerity and concern. Barnabas was moved, and a little ashamed. He knew that if he were in Willie's place, he could not have been as forgiving.

"I want you to stay," said Barnabas, with gratitude. "And I...thank you for your loyalty."

Willie grinned, looking relieved. He patted Barnabas' shoulder. "Don't worry. I know this is a big change for you, but Julia n' me'll help ya get used to it. We're your friends."

Julia came over, smiling. "How do you feel?" she asked.

Barnabas noticed a small mirror on the table next to his chair. He picked it up and gazed at his own reflection for the first time in centuries. He looked up at Julia and Willie, both smiling at him. Slowly he smiled back. It was incredible: he was human again, free of the curse after all this time. He could start a new life - become again the honorable, decent man he had been so long ago. And, after centuries of loneliness, he had friends to help him. He couldn't understand how it had happened, but he was profoundly grateful.

He reflected on Julia's question. "I feel reborn," he said simply.

He looked up at the ceiling and thought, "To whatever power has brought about this miracle...thank you."

o o o o o o o o o o o o

Sam was in a new environment, and Al was beside him, saying, "Okay, Sam, your name is-"

"Wait a second," interrupted Sam. "What happens to Barnabas?"

Al checked his handlink. It all works out, Sam. Barnabas marries Julia and they have two kids. Willie keeps working for them for awhile, and then later he marries a girl named Roxanne and they settle down in Collinsport, and Barnabas gives him money to start his own business restoring old houses."

Sam was relieved, as he always was, that everything had turned out well. He turned his attention to his next assignment. "Good. Now, who am I this time?"

"Your name is Nick Knight, and you're a detective,"said Al.

"A detective? Great!" said Sam enthusiastically. "This mission should be a lot simpler than the last one."

THE END


End file.
